Seeking Solace
by Another Lone Ranger
Summary: My name is Parker. I have no regrets, save one. I didn't kill him when I had the chance..." One mutant learns that you can't have a future while running from your past. (Your basic new-mutant-in-the-institute story with a twist)
1. Entry 1

A/N: I was actually going to do another X-men story before this one, but I was recently inspired and decided to do this story first. I was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration and thought this would be a fun story to write--considering it won't be that long. This is the first chapter though, so as always, enjoy!

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**Seeking Solace **

**Chapter 1**

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My name is Parker.

I am a mutant and I have lived my life to the best of my abilities.

I have no regrets, save one. I didn't kill him when I had the chance...

Those were the first words scrawled in a sloppy form of script. It was only the start, only the opening passage to a notebook that would soon be full of words. It was just a regular run-of-the-mill notebook you could buy at just about any store, but the words made it mine.

My mother always told me to keep a dream journal, ever since I was old enough to write. This was before I began showing my true powers as a mutant, but for as long as I can remember I've had dreams that could only be described as prophetic. Dreams in which I saw things that were to come, things that could and would happen.

The notebook in which those words were scrawled was just one of the many I have written over the years in keeping up with that habit. The most recent of my volumes. I am sorry to say that many of my precious journals were lost to me during one of the many midnight escapes I had to make in my life on the road, my teenage years on the run.

This newest one I bought on a whim, using the last of the change in my pocket as I stopped at a store for gas and some beef jerky. I really should have saved the dollar and seventy-five cents for something to eat the next day, but like I said, it was a whim. When I saw the notebook sitting there amidst the treasures of snack food, I knew I had to have it.

And so I bought it and I sit here now in one of the stalls in the gas station's bathroom. The lock is broken and the light overhead flickers every few seconds, but at least it's quiet. Quiet because its the middle of the night.

I've been driving for nearly three days now, dozing infrequently, mostly just moving. I've had my first lead in weeks and I can't rest until I reach it. My destination is a school, in New York. I've seen it in dreams, heard about it from other mutants, but never been there myself. That will change in a few hours. I'm in New Jersey now. Almost there.

I look down at the page and stare at the three lines looking back at me. Then I turn the page, ready to start fresh. I hear the bathroom door open and sigh as two late-night drivers walked in, talking loudly. There goes my solitude.

With a sigh, I leave my pen inside the notebook and stuff it into my side bag. I'll deal with it again later. Right now, I'll get back to my motorcycle--which is probably done being filled. I have a place to go to, questions to be answered. I can write in a notebook later.

With a weary sigh, I leave my broken stall and walk back outside into the night air. I pull my jacket tighter around myself, warding off the chill that was as much internal as external. It is the middle of August, but the nights are cold after midnight.

There are a few vehicles in the gas station's lot. Truckers and late night travels like myself, but not many. I am thankful for that. Being around a lot of people always bothered me, which is one of the reasons why I'm pretty much nocturnal.

My motorcycle sits by the far pump, fueled up and ready to go. I had already paid for a full tank, so I just stride over and pull out my keys. First I check the saddle bags, to make sure none of my invaluable clothing or few belongings are gone, then I straddle the seat and start up the engine. The feel of a machine turning over beneath my legs has always given me a thrill. I've ridden motorcycles since I was fifteen, and preferred them over a car no matter how lush the interior. Yes, I get wet when it rains. And yes, I get cold when it snows. But there is no feeling like riding free down a highway, weaving between hunks of metal on a thing that could almost breathe itself.

Maybe it's just because I'm such a lover of freedom, having been a prisoner before.

Before I pull out of the station, I rev my engine and drive over to one of the workers at the gas station. "Do you know where I can find a highway to Westchester, New York?" I ask him.

He looks at me strangely for a moment, then points to a Turnpike sign. "Just follow the signs," he said with a shrug, then walked away.

Lovely state, New Jersey.

I know why he looked at my strangely. I would probably look at me strangely too. It's not often you see a seventeen-year-old girl riding a motorcycle alone in the middle of the night. It's not often you see one wearing sunglasses either. The glasses were supposed to help me avoid stares, but usually is just brought more. I simply took them off and shoved my helmet over my head instead.

Without flourish or really any thought to the matter, I just steered my bike in the indicated direction, and I drove. The same as I always do, and always have, since I began my search over a year ago.

It might sound strange to the average person, or maybe even a little illegal. I am still a minor. Not able to drink or to vote, and yet I'm living on my own on the road. I've never been to an actual school. Since I was a baby I was home schooled, though I wouldn't call the last six years of my life a schooling experience.

My life is, always has been, and always will be, strange. I can't say that all mutants have to deal with the same thing, but I would say the majority of us live out our lives much differently than the average human. It's not even due to our powers. It's because we look at things differently than normal people. Because we aren't considered 'norms', the mutant slang for powerless humans.

There are good and bad mutants, just as there are good and bad norms. It's just the way of things. I have never thought myself better than other people. I have never thought myself less than other people. I am just another human being. Maybe I've dealt with more things than your average seventeen-year-old, but my mother would say it builds character.

She was full of words like that, my mother. Granted, Selene Watson was not my actual mother. She was the closest thing to a parent I had ever known. A mutant with the power to read emotion, empathic if you will. Selene was the person who raised me and taught me what I needed to know to survive. More than that, she loved me like a mother would love a daughter. I was happy with my mother.

Until one night, when somebody killed her.

It happened when I was eleven. I don't think I ever fully recovered from that blow, but who really recovers from such a loss?

I carry her picture with me everywhere I go, usually in my side bag but sometimes stowed in one of the saddle bags on my motorcycle. When I'm lost or sad, I take it out and talk to it as if she was still here. As if she could still hear me and tell me what to do. If Selene was here now, I'm sure she'd tell me that where I was going was right.

For the first time in weeks, I had a lead. This school in New York, a place I had never been but had seen so many times I felt like I knew it. This place where mutants lived and prospered. Maybe I could find my answers there, hidden between the secrets it kept.

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I drove into the night, following highway signs and crossing the border into New York. Dawn came up beside me, a bright array of yellow and gold and flesh tones. I parked at a rest stop to watch for a little while, and to nap for an hour on one of the picnic tables. I only left when one of the workers came over and kicked me out.

I didn't mind to much considering I don't sleep very much, or very often.

My mother's theory was that I don't have to sleep as much as the regular person due to my powers with dreams. An hour of two every night had me charged and ready for a new day, which annoyed her to no end when I was a child. As I got older, I realized that most people slept more than that, and I learned to stop turning the lights on and off to get her attention as she slept.

On I drove, unsure of my exact destination. All I had was the name of a town, the name of a school, and the hope that I could find what I was looking for. All I had was whispered rumors and ominous dreams. I had Bayville. I had the Xavier School for Gifted Children. I had hope.

I didn't actually reach this school for the Gifted until late in the afternoon. Around dinner time. I knew that because my stomach was growling. I knew I should have saved that money for food. Yet, as I reached a hand into my side bag and felt the spine of the fresh notebook, I couldn't regret the purchase. It was a small comfort, one that would get me through a few lonely nights if this place ended in disappointment, as every stop before this had.

This is where I sit presently, at the gate to a huge mansion-like estate. There's a lump in my throat and a pain in my stomach. Anxiety rises in me, reminding me that this could mean the end of my search, or just another dead end. I struggle to remain optimistic because negativity requires too much energy right now.

The name of the school stares at me from a small plague on the gate, a warning and a welcome. With a deep breath, I move my bike further. The gate, wrought iron and large, opens slowly to admit me. There is no other way, nothing else to do, but go forward. So I do, I press on, like always.

I must admit that my first impression of the school was one of awe mixed with intimidation. It reminds me more of a prison then a school, and too much of a place I had once run from. The building is in shadow, but the lights burning within gives it a more sedate feeling, enough to warm me into pressing on.

The driveway isn't as long as I thought it would be. It was a little deceiving at first. There are cameras positioned around the road, watching my movements. I can seem them hidden in the dark spots beneath tree branches and under bushes. For a school, this place is guarded well.

Though I know it's more than a mere school.

When I get to the door, my heart is beating a mile a minute and I've already forgotten all about my previous hunger. For right now, my mind is on what I must do. My mind is on what it all could mean. Another steadying breath later, I park my bike and leave my helmet on the seat with my saddle bags. My side bag is always on me; so are my sunglasses.

Self-conscious, I smooth out the wrinkles of my black jacket, and tap my boots against the steps so that any clinging mud would let go. I run a hand over my hair, smoothing it out after a day of being held in a helmet. It's not that long, you see, only to my shoulders. I never have time for it anyway. It's not like it's anything special, like midnight black or flaming red. It's just blonde, not golden or silver. It's dirty blonde.

Adjusting the glasses on the freckled bridge of my nose, I raise a slightly shaking hand and knock soundly on the door. Then I take a step back, adjusting the strap of my side bag and trying my best to look older than what I am. Taller than five and a half feet, older than seventeen, and less afraid than I was.

The door is opening and I hold my breath.

A woman stands in the doorway now, a beautiful woman with mocha skin and bone white hair. She looks down at me from a lovely height, her face a mask of both welcome and warning. My own expression remains closed, something I was trained into keeping at all times. The lovely woman brings her hand down from the door and links it with her other in front of her. I can tell that she's sizing me up.

"May I help you?" she asked me. Her voice holds a silky accent.

"I'm here to see Professor Charles Xavier," I say calmly. The voice carries no tone, and I'm proud by how calm I sound. I can't let on that I have hopes in this place. Hope can kill a person if left unchecked, so I always try to keep mine in the smallest measurement.

"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asks me.

"I would have called," I say, "but I didn't know the number. I have not been to New York in several years."

She looks at me for a long moment. I can hear voices behind her--young voices, laughing and yelling and carrying on. The voices of the students. The mutant children who call this place home. For a spilt second, I envy them for it, for having a home together. It's gone as fast as it came, and I give none of my thoughts away.

"Shall I tell him who's calling?" Her eyes, dark and exotic, seem to see through me. She is looking for any signs of ill-will, of ulterior motives. I have none.

"I would prefer to see him myself," I say as politely as a can, even bowing my head slightly out of respect. It's an act of submission bred into me.

"Follow me please," she says lightly, opening the door wider and allowing me access. I smile slightly, not a grin but not a frown. She closes the door behind me before walking out to lead.

Suddenly, I am in a world of polished wood, of homey designs and school-like decorations. I am in a world of boarding school. I see a few students in another room, by a fire place. They are sitting around, laughing with each other, though one by one they fall quiet as we walk past them. I feel their eyes trained on me as I follow behind my lovely guide, head high.

There are some students in the hallway that we pass. They look at me, sizing me up, guessing my story. I say nothing to them, or to my guide. I just follow, silently. As I walk, I finger the rabbit's foot on the zipper of my side bag. It's my nervous habit.

Finally, we reach our destination. The polished wooden door to an office, much like all the other doors we have passed in the hallway. My guide goes first, knocking lightly, then opening when an answer comes from within. I follow slowly.

"Professor, there is a visitor for you," the woman says politely.

"Thank you Ororo," the man says.

I am surprised by his appearance, this man who I have heard rumors about for many years. The man whose life goal is the peaceful coexistence of mutants and norms. He's not a warrior, not tall and built for war. Instead, he is bound to a wheelchair, a man of limits. His head is bald and he's dressed formally. I would expect this man to be a school principal rather than a crusader for mutants. Perhaps that was his reasoning. Perhaps he simply wanted to be as normal and approachable as anyone else.

Ororo, my lovely guide, is leaving us now, closing the door as she exits. I am left alone in the comfortable office with this man. I look at him from behind my sunglasses, and he looks at me with a light brown gaze. I don't feel threatened, which makes it much easier to speak.

"Forgive my rude entrance," I say calmly, bowing my head. "My name is Parker Watson."

"Welcome to my Institute, Miss Watson. I am Charles Xavier." I shiver at the way he says 'institute'. Too many old memories combined with too many old threats. I am suddenly keenly aware that I am alone in a room with a man and I keep my distance safely. He is in a wheelchair, but that makes him no less dangerous as a mutant.

"You'll have to excuse my bluntness," I begin again. "But I see no point in rounding edges. I know that this school is a place for mutant children."

He is not surprised when I say this. I am reminded again that his mutant powers are all psychic. If he so desired, he could tap into my mind and read everything there. Somehow, he didn't strike me as the kind of man who would read a mind without permission, so I continued anyway.

"I have heard about your school many times over the years," I say with all the admiration that I had in me for this place of legend. "Recently, I have…" I falter. What could I really say? 'I've been having dreams that tell me to come here…?' He'll think I am a lunatic, or worse, he could think me young and not intelligent enough to interpret fact from fiction. "I have been struck with a note of urgency," I continue, struggling for words. "I was hoping that, perhaps, you could help me."

"Oh?" he asks calmly. A smile curves his lips and he steeples his hands over his desk while listening. "And why would you think a school for mutants could help you?"

He wants proof. I'll give him proof.

I reach up and tentatively remove my sunglasses, looking at my hands before blinking and looking up at him. I see him raise one eyebrow, but say nothing to what I have just revealed. My eyes are, I am sorry to say, my most mutant quality. Like many mutants, most of my powers are inborn. A power that can not set me apart when you place me in a crowd. My eyes, however, are a different story.

I was born with cat eyes. That's what my mother called them anyway. Human shaped, but with irises of bright yellow. My pupils are set vertically, slits rather than circles. I can also see in darkness, like a feline, due to the reflective membrane covering my organs of sight. Since birth, I have been different in that one aspect.

"The Mutant Underground said that this would be as good a place as any," I comment, cocking my head to the side for effect.

Charles Xavier nods his head. "You can stay here as long as you wish," he comments.

I laugh, holding up my hands. "I don't want to enroll," I say with a smile.

"You don't?" he asks, looking surprised now.

"No," I say with a bow of my head. "I am here for information."

"Regarding?"

This is my cue. I reach into my side bag, rummaging around in it for a moment before my hands close over a small framed photograph. The frame is black and soft to the touch, the corners lined with a few fake sparkling jewels. I always thought it was pretty. Lifting the photograph out of my bag, I walk forward to the desk. I lay the photo down in front of the man in the wheelchair.

The photo shows a young boy of eleven, with flaxen hair and yellow cat eyes. He's sitting on a swing, a huge grin on his face even as his long bangs fall into his strange eyes. It's the only picture I have of my brother, and it's six years old. The corners were bent and the back is yellow from so many years hiding under my pillow. I only got it framed a few months ago.

"That's my brother," I say. Even I can hear the emotion now in my voice. "His name is Peter Watson, though he might have changed it, or how he looks." I paused, trying to marshal my emotions. "He's only eleven in the picture, but he'd be seventeen now. Same as me."

"Your twin?" Xavier asks, looking up at me.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "We were separated…after our mother died. I was adopted and Pete…wasn't. I've been looking for him since I left home a year ago. I've been told that this place was good to start, that a lot of runaway mutants come here."

"I'm afraid I've never seen a boy like this, or named Peter Watson," Xavier says, handing my picture back to me. His face conveyed his regret and his sympathy. Disappointment nearly undoes me. I take my photography from him, hugging it to my chest as I lower my head. I try to hide my hurt, but I know it's not very affective. I had hope, but it was dashed.

"I'm sorry that I wasted your time," I say in a small voice, turning quickly and heading to the door.

"Wait," he calls after me and I hesitate. My hand is at the knob. All I have to do is turn it and run. Run, like I've done so many times in the past year. For some reason I could never begin to explain, my hand lowers to my side. I turn to face him. He's come out from behind his desk, wheeling forward slightly and looking at me levelly. "Perhaps I can help you."

"Help me?" I ask. "If you don't know Peter, then I have to keep looking--"

"I understand your drive to find your brother," he says reasonably. "But I might be able to help you find him."

"You can do that?" I ask, stunned. "I've heard rumors about a machine that can locate mutants…but I never believed it was real!"

"Oh, it's very real," Xavier says with a smile. "I built it."

I am awed now and I drop my head. "Sir," I begin. "If you could help me find my brother…I would forever be in your debt." What could I ever have said, ever have done, that could convey to this man how deep my love for Peter goes, and how desperate and determined I was to find him. If only to find his grave. Something to which I know what became of my other half.

"No need for life-debts," Xavier says with the hint of a laugh in his voice. "We would make an even barter." I look at his quizzically. "If you remain here at the Institute, I will search for your brother."

I am shocked, and I am not a person who is easily shocked. My jaw drops and I simply stare at him for a long moment. When I finally regain my speech, I cough first. "Y-you want me to s-stay? _Here_?"

"It's a fair bargain," he replies.

"But you don't even _know_ me!" I protest.

"That can change," he says calmly. "My doors are always open to young people like yourself."

"I doubt you've ever met someone like me," I comment idly, shaking me head. "Not to say that I'm more unique or anything. I've simply…been around and seen some things. And if I were to stay, which I am not agreeing to yet," I say quickly. "I can not stay long. My past is still chasing me."

Xavier never wavered. "You can stay as long as you like. And I will help you look for your brother as long as you are here."

With a nod, and bow forward. "I accept your hospitality and will remain as long as I feel it is safe to do so in exchange for your assistance in finding Peter."

"Then we have a deal," Xavier says with a smile and a nod. He wheels himself back behind his desk and indicates an open chair across from him. "Please, sit and tell me about yourself."

I hesitate only a moment. The enormity of what I have just done and what it will mean won't really weigh on my mind for a little while yet. Right now, I'm riding a new wave of hope. Hope that my search might yet come to a happy end and that I will find my brother and rebuild the family that was stolen from me.

I take the open seat with a sigh and look at the man across from me with wet eyes. "It all began when we were born," I begin. "Peter and I were born with our eyes as they are, so we were pegged as mutants from the start. What normal family would want two mutant babies? So our birth parents gave us away as soon as they could. Luckily for us, we were given to a mutant woman named Selene…"

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**A/N: **I have never done an X-Men: Evolution fanfic before, so I ask that you take my work with a grain of salt. Reviews are welcome in all shapes and forms. This is simply a story I've done because of my love for the story and my respect for the characters--and because I have nothing better to do. 


	2. Entry 2

A/N: Thanks to my 2 reviewers, lol. You guys rock! And kudos MeWhoExactlyWhat for catching on to my Spiderman references--there are a few pepper through the story! Oh well, I've written this story for my own benefit. It'll be fun, worry not! There will also be romance and intrigue and all that good stuff later on. As of now, Enjoy!

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Seeking Solace

Chapter 2

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Dear Mom:

I'm sorry I haven't written in forever, but you understand that because of my lack of funds and my aversion for cheating the government in exchange of payment, that I wasn't able to grab a new journal.

I think that someone might find it creepy that I still write letters to you in these journals. I remember when I was little and I told you that I didn't want to write down my nightmares. You told me to pretend I was just writing a letter to you, and that way, I could write it without having to worry. It was for you Mom, and you always had a way of making me feel safe. Maybe it's childish to want that safety now, after all I've seen and done, but I still want it. I still need it.

Especially since I'm all alone now.

I promise you this, I will find Peter. No matter what I have to do, no matter where I have to go, no matter who I have to go through...

But you wouldn't want me to hurt anyone, would you Mom? No, you'd tell me that hurting other people is wrong, like you used to do when I got into fights back home with neighborhood kids. I was only trying to protect Pete, who was so friendly and trusting... Do you remember how they would throw rocks at him Mom? I do. And I remember how I bloodied that boy's nose one day when he tried climbing the fence into our yard. You yelled at me then. What would you say about me now?

I try not to think about it. Try not to think about you too much, because then I'll just start to cry. Like I do every time I think about Peter. Like I am right now, as I write this to you in a vacant and dark kitchen.

I miss you Mom. I miss your advice and your guidance. If you were still here, we would still be a family, the three of us. But, if it hadn't been for me, you would still be here. Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had died, or if I had never been born at all. Peter and you would have been happy, wouldn't you?

I know what you would say. You'd say that's selfish talk about what could have been. I can't change the fact that I'm here. I can't change the past, so I shouldn't want to so badly. There are some things beyond the control of even us mutants. I wish it wasn't, Mom. I wish I could go back more than anything.

I know I can't. I can't wash the blood from my hands anymore than you could. But I can give you this much.

I promise I will find Peter and that we will be a family again.

I promise I will never become what I was when I was with DeVero.

I promise I will be a better person, and do what's right instead of what's right now.

Most of all, Mom, I promise that I will never abuse my powers again. You always said they were a Gift, and that I should respect them. I respect them now, Mom. Though it may be too late for that.

I'm on a trail to find Pete. I came to this school, the school from my dreams. The Professor here, a man named Charles Xavier, has given me an opportunity. If I stay here at the school, he'll help me find Peter. What else could I do, Mom, but accept? It's a sweet deal though. The mansion boarding school is bitchin'...very nice. Though the people here leave something to be desired. I guess I shouldn't complain.

What was that? You want to know about the people? Okay, I'll start from the beginning...

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When I finished telling my story to Xavier, he just gave me a pensive stare. I didn't tell him the whole story of course. I didn't tell him about everything DeVero did to me, or what I did for him. I told the basic truth. I told him about my mother, about my brother, and about the man who adopted me and made me call him 'Father'. Maybe it's a lie of omission to leave out certain details, but I just met the man, and with the exception of my brother, I have never trusted a man in my life.

I also explained to him the technicalities of my powers. My prophetic dreams, my cat-like eyesight, and the other element of my powers. I can create matter with thought. It began when I was young, when I would dream about something and when I'd wake up in the morning, it would be in bed with me. In my waking hours, for many years, all I could create were illusions. A thin veil of matter that would dissolve if touched or disappear after a certain period of time. Now I can create some permanently, using only my mind.

It has unnerved people in the past, especially the people who used to work for my adopted father. Andrew DeVero, the devil incarnate, loved making me perform for his friends. It was both a threat and a promise. _Do what I say, or I can make the girl kill you. Believe me, a murder weapon would never be found._

I wish I could say that was the worst I was forced to do in the five years I was with him, but it's not. It's not even close.

So I didn't tell Xavier everything that was in my heart, or in my head. As I suspected, he promised never to look into my brain without permission. Frankly, I wouldn't really care if he did. He'd see a lot of ugly memories, a lot of ugly feelings, and know that I am a very ugly girl. No secret.

I was not here for help. I can control my powers and have most of my life apart from the occasionally dream-spawned creation. I did not come here for tutoring or training. I could fight. I was smart. The only reason I was here was so that Charles Xavier would keep his end of the bargain and help me find my brother.

Still, he set down the rules for me point blank.

"Seeing as how you will be living under my roof, Ms. Watson," he commented, steepling his hands and looking at me with a level brown gaze. "I think you should know that there are a set of limitations."

"I expected as much," I said calmly. There were few things that I couldn't live with and I doubted this man would force any of them upon me.

"You will have one of the rooms here. There is a ten o'clock curfew on school nights, and a midnight curfew on weekends. You need to be on the grounds by that time, preferably inside the mansion as the doors will be locked after that. You are not permitted to use your powers in public. Seeing as your physical features are altered, I'm sure we could find you something--"

"I have contacts," I interrupted. "Colored contacts. My foster father used to have me wear them when I was in public with him, if I couldn't wear sunglasses. I just...don't like them that much."

Xavier nodded, a slight smile on his face. I was semi-comfortable in his presence, but not so much that I'd lax my guard. To many years of training, too many years lived in fear, taught me not to underestimate anyone. No matter how much you wanted to trust them.

"You will also be required to attend school when it starts next week," he pointed out.

I faltered. "I've n-never been to a s-school b-before!" When I got angry or scared, I had the tendency to stutter. Something that embarrassed me endlessly in my younger years. I didn't stutter often anymore.

"The other students can walk you through it," he said with his same good-humored expression.

That's when it hit me. I would be living in a boarding school filled with other teenagers, other mutants. Eating, sleeping, sharing a bathroom, going to school with...I would be in a crowd of people the entire time I was here! Let me just say that my enthusiasm dropped several points thanks to that revelation.

"I've g-got one question," I said in a small voice. I was looking at my hands, fingers shaking in my lap. "Will my door be locked at night?"

Xavier looked me over, I could feel his gaze. "Of course not. The mansion is free to you at all times, apart from the lower levels. Though it is expected that you turn in at a decent hour on school nights."

I smiled slightly, fixing him with my over version of a yellow gaze. "I only sleep two ours a night, Prof. Unless I wear out my powers, then it's six."

He returned my smile. "Well, then I think you will enjoy our library."

"Probably."

"Come, I will introduce you around," Xavier announced, wheeling around from behind his desk to where I was getting up. "The rest of the students should be lounging around. Dinner was served an hour ago. Are you hungry?"

I shook my head, despite the hollowness of my stomach. "I'd rather get the meet-and-greet over with, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," he said good-naturedly. And then we were out of his office, heading down the hallway. I placed my sunglasses back on, more out of habit than anything. I hated when people stared. When I was with DeVero, I was a background, a shadow. I could blend and watch and learn, what I loved most in the world. Now I was being put on display when we entered the room where a bunch of students were watching television.

They looked up, one by one, until one of them flicked off the screen and they all devoted their full attention to the man in the wheelchair. I was stunned by the obedience shown, and I began to get a bit nervous as to what I had just gotten myself into. but then I looked at their faces, the faces of the teenagers, and none of them were afraid. Not one of their gazes held fear or malice, not one of their expressions were angry. They showed this man nothing but respect, and that awed me.

I looked them over. There were three of them on the couch, and one on the floor. The one on the floor was a boy maybe eleven or twelve, with a head of dark brown hair and a smile that made me think of my brother--the same kind of charming smile that all pre-adolescent boys seem to have. His eyes, green and round, held a spark of mischief to them.

There were two girls and one guy on the couch. I looked over at the guy. He was my age, maybe a little older. Tall in build, and well-built at that! A behind-shades inspection labeled him as the clean-cut sort, probably a stickler to the rules and had a little trouble kicking back. His posture suggested one of forced relaxation, and his muscles were tense for any action. His complexion was fair and his medium brown hair was cut conservatively, though I would be my last dollar he used hair-gel every morning. What really interested me was the fact that he, like myself, was sporting a pair of sunglasses in the after-dark hours. The lenses were red, perhaps quartz or ruby.

The girl on the other end of the couch drew my attention next. She was an elegant beauty, the kind of girl who was aware of her good looks, but never tried to flaunt them. I could tell from the starting gate that she was prim-and-proper. Athletically built, the right proportions in all the right places, she was a girl that other girls probably admired and despised at the same time. Her hair was a fountain of red, falling gently around her face and across her shoulders, probably stopping midway down her back. She had to condition, it was the only explanation. Her eyes were green and clear and fixed me with an open expression of curiosity.

Sandwiched between the boy in the shades and the perfectly manicured red-head sat a pint-sized girl with light brown hair held into a high ponytail. Her lovely blue eyes watched my moved uncertainly, and her pretty face held a frown of curiosity. She couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen, judging from her size and her build. If put back to back, we'd probably be the same height. From the way she held herself, she was very open in her feelings and very vocal with her thoughts. The presence of Xavier beside me was probably the only thing keeping her mouth closed.

"Scott," Xavier spoke up. The boy in the shades perked up a bit. "Would you gather the rest of the students and staff? There will be a meeting in the library."

"Right away Professor," Scott said as he hopped over the back of the couch and jogged toward the staircase in the other room.

"You three should head to the library as well," Xavier told the others.

They nodded, casting a glance at me in turn before leaving us alone once more. I turned to Xavier and grinned. "Lively bunch you've got here Charles," I said in my most regal voice.

He smiled at me. "You should get in practice of calling me 'Professor Xavier' now that you're a student."

"Aw shucks! And here I thought I was special." We shared a smile before another person walked into the room.

A man, perhaps in his late thirties, walked in and stopped short upon seeing me chatting it up with Xavier. His dark hair, cut in a very...unique...manner made him look sort of rough around the edges. His dark eyes narrowed on me when he entered, and stared there for a moment. He was making the same deductions of me that I was drawing from him. Stranger in my view. He wasn't a very tall man, but he was built like a fighter and I could almost feel the primal strength radiating off of him. He was a feral, a mutant with some kind of animalistic qualities. I had met a few while I was with DeVero, and I learned that my eyes were subject to feral blood. Feral men were territorial, and could be aggressive randomly. My guess was that I was safe with Xavier, but I would have to watch myself to make sure I never found myself alone with him.

"Ah, Logan," Xavier said, looking to the newcomer with a smile. "Your timing is perfect."

"I see we have a visitor," Logan commented in a thick voice. I liked the sound of it, like gravel and a growl.

I waved a little, lamely. I was very outgoing in my youth, and I think I retained most of that in my 'older' years. I much prefer my own company to a large crowd, but I can be social if the mood strikes me. I was feeling a little giddy at the moment, too much hope mixed with lack of food and a lot of self-belittlement.

"This is Parker Watson," Xavier introduced. "She'll be gracing us with her presence for the next few weeks."

"Hello," I greeted respectfully, bowing my head before I strode forward, holding out a hand to the feral man. "I'm Parker."

"Logan," he said gruffly, shaking my hand slightly before just giving me a suspicious stare. His grasp had been warm and I was positive I'd end up getting on this man's nerves at least once while I was here.

"So Prof," I said casually, turning back to Xavier with a relaxed ease. "Why's everyone gathering in the library?"

"Introductions, of course," Xavier replied.

I paled, lowing my sunglasses enough to meet his gaze. "I have to make a speech...?"

"More like we want everyone to see you, so they know who you are, and how they can help you. And we want you to know the same of the others," he explained, wheeling forward and taking the lead out of the room. I scrambled to follow after, Logan a step behind me.

"But I'm n-not g-g-good in from of c-crowds!" I stuttered.

"You handled Logan quite well," he pointed out, tossing a glance back at me.

"There's a big difference between a feral and a library of mutants!" I pointed out, getting a headache already. "Oh, I feel an ulcer coming on."

Xavier chuckled and Logan snorted from behind me. "We going for a dramatic edge, Charles?" he asked the man in the lead.

"We're only helping a young lady in need of help, Logan," Xavier said in that good-natured way of his. It was like I wasn't there, and I smirked a little.

"I'm feeling special again," I spoke aloud, with a grin. At the very least I had enough confidence to stand in front of a room full of strangers.

Xavier came to a stop in front of a pair of large wooden doors. I could hear murmuring from behind them, voices but no words. It seemed everyone was crowded inside apart from the three of us. Logan went in first, Xavier followed, pausing long enough to nod at me. I took a deep breath before following him.

The talking died down the moment I stepped into the room. My head was down out of habit, but I looked at them all from behind my sunglasses and under the fall of my hair. All eyes were on me, from the students to the other teachers, and I felt all the gazes. Each one was like a blade of fear in my heart. Have I mentioned my hatred of crowds? That's nothing compared to _speaking in front _of crowds.

I was at Xavier's side when he paused in front of the throng, and it made me feel fractionally better. "Everyone, I would like you to meet Parker Watson," he said in a projecting voice, indicated me at his side. "She will be our guest at the mansion for the next few weeks. I want you all to make her feel welcome." I felt my face burning. I looked to Xavier and he nodded toward the crowd. I had to give a speech.

Goddamn it!

I cleared my throat a little, waved lamely and bowed my head out of respect. "I'm Parker," I said in a practiced monotone voice. "But you may called me 'Dreamweaver'." There were a few small murmurings, but I ignored them. "I don't plan on stay here long," I continued. "Professor Xavier has been most kind in offering me a place to stay while assisting me in searching for my brother. He is also a mutant, and the two of us were separated several years ago." I looked up then, scanning the faces, seeing their understanding of my words. "I promise not to get in anyone's way."

"No need for promises of that kind," my lovely guide said. Ororo got up from her chair and walked forward, extending her hand when she reached me. "I hope your stay here is up to your standards."

I took her hand with a wry grin. "My standards are very low," I informed her. "And this is a freakin' mansion. I think I'll be just fine."

She smiled politely and moved aside so the rest of the school could get a good look at me. "Why don't you all introduce yourselves?" Ororo suggested. Her tone carried more order than request. My grin widened a fraction. I liked her already!

The first student to move forward was Scott, the boy in the shades from earlier. He held out his hand and I accepted it was a lopsided grin. Oh, he was a dish all right, but not my type I'm sad to say. His grip was firm, like he was testing mine, but I didn't want to play his game right off the bat.

"I'm Scott," he introduced himself. "Welcome to the Institute."

"I'm Parker," I said casually. "Thanks."

"Nice eyewear," he commented when he released my hand. "Those serve any functional purpose, or just part of your image?"

I smiled slowly, evilly. "I could ask you the same, but judging by the shade and make of those babies on your face, I'd say they keep something pretty strong from smacking me in the head."

He grinned. "Optic blasts," he said, pointing to his eyes. "Pretty powerful blast when taken raw. That's why they call me Cyclops."

I turned to the side, studying his glasses from a few angles. "Suave," I said at last. Then I reached for my own and pulled them down. I met his shades with a yellow stare. "Mine are just to avoid stares."

He didn't comment, just nodded solemnly and nodded to the others. I guess he was the 'sacrificial lamb' come to the proverbial slaughter, seeing if I was murderer or martyr. I think I passed the test because the rest of the students crowded around to shake my hand and introduce themselves.

It seems the lovely red-head was named Jean Gray, hardly the name for a great beauty. She shook my hand and smiled, then she explained to me that her powers were psychic. Telekinesis to be exact--the one power I've always wanted to have--and a slight telepathy. I was very gracious to make her acquaintance.

The pretty girl from between them on the couch was Kitty Pryde, a whole lot of valley girl stuffed into a pint-sized body. And when I say girl, I mean Girl with a capitol 'G'. Still, she seemed sweet enough. The kind who could annoy you one second, but make you forgive her the next. Her power was walking through solid objects, something she demonstrated by walking through two of the students in front of her. A real Shadowcat.

The little boy from the floor, the one who had the cute smile, was Jamie Madrox. His nickname of Multiple was shown without words when an older classmen pushed him and three little boys fell to the floor. I think I had an affinity for him right away because I had always been a sucker for kids.

I was also introduced to Jubilee, a very pretty girl who could shoot fireworks from her hands. Amara, a girl they called Magma because of her ability to turn herself into liquid fire and melt solid rock. Sam, a boy called Cannonball, able to shoot himself and go 'boom', I guess. Then there was Bobby the Iceman, guess what his power was?

There was Wolfsbane and Spyke and Beast, oh my! Well, Wolfsbane was Rahne Sinclair, a darling girl with a lovely accent who could transform into a wolf. Spyke was a total skater boy with the ability to shoot bone-like spikes out of his body, whom I was told was the nephew of the lovely Ororo. She's also known as Storm. Beast was formerly a teacher at the local high school, a Hank McCoy, who had been transformed into a very buff blue creature with a humanitarian nature and a gentle way about him.

Sunspot and Berserker were two boys in the rear, attempting charm but not pulling it off. I made it a rule not to get attached to anyone anyway, so they were both plumb out of luck. Sunspot, or Roberto, was a human solar panel, able to use the sun's energy as his own. Next thing you know, there will be a microwave mutant... Berserker was actually named Ray, a show-off who had power with electricity. Unlucky for him, I felt no spark between us.

Bringing up the rear were the two people who probably interested me the most. One, a girl named Rogue. She seemed to be a kind of gothic girl, with heavy makeup and clothes covering all of her body. Her hair, a burnished brown that fell just short of her shoulders, had two white stripes on either side of her face. Someone told me, that someone not being her, that her power prevented her from human contact. She sucked energy into herself through skin-to-skin contact, or something like that. All I knew was that she had sad eyes, large and green and haunted. I wanted to be her friend right away, despite my inner warnings of not to get attached.

The last person I met was probably the most interesting of all.

Kurt Wagner. Needless to say that I was a little taken back by his appearance. Not in a bad way. I wasn't scared of him or anything, I was just...awestricken. I can see why they called him a 'fuzzy elf' when he was introduced. His actual codename was Nightcrawler, which made me smile at the fact that he looked nothing like fish bait. His body was covered in a kind of blue fur, complete with pointed ears, white fanged teeth, and a tail! When he offered a three-fingered hand, I guess he didn't think I would take it. After a millisecond's hesitation, I grasped his hand firmly and shook with a smile. Blue _has_ always been my favorite color!

Introductions were made and everyone seemed friendly enough. I was still feeling slightly nervous--my fear of crowds and everything.

"So Parker," Kitty said with a smile. "Like, what is your power?"

I grinned impishly. "They're nothing extraordinary," I said with a shrug. "I was born with the eyes. They let me see in the dark. My brother has them too, which is how anyone can tell we're twins." I had to clear my throat because I could already feel it closing. I had to switch subject, not think about Peter, or I'd cry. "I have dreams," I said lamely. "Dreams that tell things, like the future and stuff."

"Really?" Bobby asked. "Does that mean you can see if I'll get an A in math this year?"

A couple of people laughed. I grinned and shook my head. "It doesn't work like that. I don't control what I see, I just...see things."

"Is that all?" Jean asked. She gave me an encouraging look and I shook my head with an eager grin. Maybe I was a little show-off-y myself sometimes, but I loved my Gifts. In all of my life, no matter what I did or where I went, I can honestly say that there has never been one day in my life where I was ashamed of being a mutant.

"Rogue," I said, calling to the gothic girl in the back of the group. Her head came up and her eyes met mine. "What's your favorite flower?"

"Wha?" she asked me, brow coming forward in a puzzled expression.

"What's your favorite flower?" I repeated, looking at her with a friendly smile.

"A rose Ah guess," she drawled in a southern accent as pretty as she was.

I grinned. "Rose," I nodded. Clapping my hands together, I rubbed them three times, turned them flat and slowly pulled them apart. I felt a familiar tingling sensation in my hands and my arms and my breath left me slowly. In the air between my hands, a stem began to grow. Green and healthy and lovely, I focused all my senses and attentions to make this one perfect flower. The stem grew to include a bud which grew and bloomed like flash photography. Leaves unfurled along the stem, each ruby petal on the flower was perfect. I concentrated until everything was perfect, as close to true life as I could make it.

The tingling stopped in my hands, and I plucked the rose, which had suspended in the space between my two parted hands, from the air. I brought it to my nose and sniffed it. It was a perfect, clean rose scent. I had done well this time--but flowers were my favorite. A guilty pleasure, if you will. One trait that made me unalterably female was my love of floral things.

I tossed the rose across the room to Rogue, who caught it deftly. "There ain't no thorns," she said, looking at the bare stem.

"I thought it safer to forgo the pointy things," I said with a half-smile.

There was a whistle from the on-lookers and a few of them even applauded lightly. I blushed and smiled shyly. "Are flowers all you can make?" Scott asked with a grin.

"I can make anything," I said while crossing my arms over my chest. "Accept for living things. I can do cut flowers, dead things like that, but creating life is beyond my 'mutant' power."

"You can create life in another way?" Evan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Any woman can, genius," I laughed. "Hasn't anyone told you about the birds and the bees?" I was given a round of laughs and I felt relieved. Perhaps my staying here wouldn't be such a bad thing for the time being, until I had to move on again.

It's a sad thing, to keep moving like I did. Once I found Peter I would probably keep having to move. At least until I was eighteen. That way, I would be free of legal charges, but I knew in my heart that the law didn't matter to men like Andrew DeVero. He'd come after me until the ends of time, simply because he thought he owned me. And men like Andrew DeVero never lost something that was theirs.

"Well, it seems you'll get along here better than you think," Xavier said from behind me. I turned and smiled. You should retrieve your belongings and we'll set you up in a vacant bed."

I gave him a salute. "Sure, Cap'n," I chirped, heading out of the library and toward the front doors. As expected, my bike was still there. Complete with everything I left on it. In sleep towns, one didn't have to worry too much about being robbed. Grabbing up my helmet and emptying my saddle bags into one large duffle bag, I trudged up the stairs and inside again.

I was greeted by three students when I re-entered the building. Scott, Jean, and Kitty were near the staircase, talking to one another until they noticed me. "Hi!" I greeted, waiting for an explanation.

"We're going to give you the grand tour," Kitty said with a grin.

"After we get you to your room," Jean said with a smile.

"Just follow us," Scott explained. "You can get lost in a place like this pretty easy."

"No kidding," I drawled. "I almost got lost on the front step!"

They offered me smiles. I know I'm not a great comedian, but I try. I hefted my duffle bag over my shoulder and stood at attention, back straight, chin parallel to the ground, just like I was taught.

"You're room is upstairs," Kitty said. "There's a small one-bed room next to mine and Rogue's room. It's got a nice view of the backyard." She was trying to make it sound like Caesar's Palace and I grinned.

"I'm sure it's better than a park bench," I offered. "So I'll be happy with it no matter what."

"Follow me," Kitty said with a smile. She bounded up the stairs and I did my best to keep up with her, but I'm afraid my energy is getting less in my older years, so I lagged a little behind her.

We walked down a large carpeted hallway, lined with identical wooden doors. Kitty pointed out who-slept-where, the closets, and the two bathrooms, one at the end of each hall. When we came to a stop, we were nearly at the end of the hallway leading to yet another staircase. She turned to a large a little ways down.

"That's Rogue's and my room," she told me. "Feel free to knock if you, like, need anything."

"Thanks Kitty," I said, and I meant it.

Kitty opened the door for me and I walked into a modest sized room. It hadn't been used in a while, but it was far from disheveled. There was a bed and a dresser and a desk with a lamp. There was a large window that opened, with no bars on it. And the door had no lock. I loved this room in an instant. I tossed down my duffle bag and helmet on the bed, then hung my side bag on the chair at the desk.

"I could definitely get used to this," I said, looking around.

"Good," Kitty smiled. "It's a great place."

"You all seem so happy here," I commented to her.

"We weren't at first," she said. "But once you're, like, here for a while, we've become something of a family. And it's nice."

I nodded, smiling a little. "On with the tour," I said, pointing toward the door. She grinned and led the way again. Back down the stairs to where Scott and Jean were waiting. I guess it was a kind of initiation, to see my reaction to everything they had to show me.

I had been prepared for most of it. The training rooms they called a 'Danger room'. The infirmaries and the technical computer rooms. I was still a little surprised and awed by all of it. The garage of high-powered vehicles, the X-jet, and especially Cerebro. This was the machine that would, hopefully, help me find my brother.

All the while we walked, the three of them went back and forth in conversation. They baited me, asked me questions--some of which I even answered--but mostly just had fun being my tour guides, showing all the best parts of their home. A place that would serve as my home, for a while anyway. Mostly I was content to listen to them speak and to just be in their company. I liked listening to people speak, I always have. it's surprising how much you can learn about people when they just talk and forget that you're there. Not that they forgot me, really. There were just some lines of dialogue that seemed like an inside joke between Scott and Jean, and sometimes with Kitty.

There was a domesticity to it that I liked, that I envied, and that I also hated because it made me remember what I had lost so many years ago.

We couldn't have been gone more than a half an hour, so it seemed, but after nearly two and a half hours of walking the mansion, we were back upstairs at the door to my new room.

"Get some sleep," Scott told me. "We'll have you in the Danger room tomorrow and you can show us your stuff."

I grinned. "Them's fightin' words, Scott," I told him. "You'd better be able to back that up." He grinned back at me and it seemed a bridge had been crossed. I seem to have passed his test.

"You really should rest," Jean said, the voice of logic. "The Danger room isn't a joke, and you'll need all your energy."

"You don't have to worry about me Jean," I assured her. "I can look after myself. But thanks...for the worry anyway." She smiled at me, that pretty school-girl smile. That was a million-dollar smile. And like I had with Scott, I passed Jean's test.

"You'll, like, have to get to know the others better tomorrow," Kitty told me enthusiastically. I wouldn't say as much out loud, but she reminded me of the energizer bunny, her mouth always going a million miles a minute. It was a quality that would probably bother a lot of people, but I liked talkative people. It was quite people who always wanted to know things. Talkative people liked to think they already knew it all.

"Then I guess I will bid you three a good evening," I said with a flourishing bow.

"G'night," Kitty called, going next door.

"Good night Parker," Jean said with a smile and a wave.

"Rest up," Scott reminded me.

"Right-o Skipper," I called after him.

Once they were gone and I was alone in my little room, I didn't even bother flicking on the light. I could see perfectly well. Instead, I walked right over to the large window and flung it open, letting the cool night air flow over me and into the room. DeVero never let me have an open window. This seemed like a perfectly illegal act, and I shivered in delight.

The next thing I did was slip out of my jeans and jacket. I dumped the contents of my duffel bag out on my bed, hopping into my one pair of comfy pajama pants. I slipped on my other pair of socks, gathering the shed clothing into a pile so I could take it to the laundry room tomorrow. I hung my jacket on the back of my door.

On top of the dressed, I plopped down my hairbrush. I stuffed my two clean shirts, my other pair of jeans, my single pair of shorts, and my one dress into one drawer. Everything else went in the other. Clothing secure, I unpacked my side bag. My framed pictures of Mom and Peter went up on the dresser. My new journal I placed on my desk. The only other things in my side bag were some chapstick, a few comic books, and my portable radio.

By that time, I had run out of things to do, so I just tossed myself on to the bed with a sigh. There was a digital clock next to the bed blinking 11:37 at me. If I went to sleep now, I'd be up at one or two. I could go watch TV downstairs until breakfast. That resolved, I went to sleep.

* * *

I surprised Ororo the next morning when she padded down the stairs from her room and into the kitchen. I was already there, frying up some scrambled eggs for myself. It was only 5:30, still dark outside to boot.

"Good morning Parker," she greeted when she flipped on the light. Once more, I hadn't bothered turning the lights on.

"Good morning Ororo," I greeted. "Or should I call you Storm?"

"You can call me whatever you like," she mumbled, heading to the coffee pot. It was half-filled from when I had made it a little while ago. Still, it was hot and it was drinkable. So she sat behind the counter, sipping on her drink and watching me.

"How do you like your eggs?" I asked.

"Over easy," she replied fuzzily. My guess is she's not talkative before her first cup is done.

"Over easy it is!" I replied energetically. I had actually slept for four whole hours that night, so I was feeling especially peppy. I made our eggs, setting a plate down in front of her, lightly salting and peppering. Then I added wheat toast, butter, and a fork. "Enjoy," I said with a smile, digging into my own breakfast after pouring myself a second cup of coffee. Black, of course.

"Early riser?" she asked me after a while. I looked up and grinned.

"I only sleep an average of three hours a night," I informed her. "It has to do with my powers. The more I use them, the more rest I need. But I've never slept more that seven hours in row in my life."

"Your mother must have loved that," Ororo grumbled, sipping her coffee.

I laughed, really gave my throaty laugh. It felt really nice to laugh.

We ate more in silence, and after a while, some of the other students made their way downstairs. Scott and Rogue were two of the first. Kurt was the last, popping in out of no where and stealing some toast. I offered them eggs, a few accepted and I busied myself with cooking. It was a small luxury one didn't get to enjoy when moving a lot. Until they make a portable kitchen that is.

At around eight, everyone was downstairs, showered and dressed and groggily ready for the new day. I was finishing up the last of the dishes, humming to myself. Ororo was drying with me. I think she was starting to like me, for which I was grateful. She was the kind of person you'd not want to get on the bad side of. She told me how she was running the first of the Danger room sessions that morning, since Logan and Hank were fixing a computer glitch in their security system. For once, I was actually getting excited about training.

So at eight-thirty, when everyone was assembled in the kitchen, we headed down into the Danger room. We all had to change into this weird outfits too, with X's on the front. Kitty told me that it was a signature of the 'X-Men'. It wasn't exactly my style, but I wore an extra outfit while waiting for a training suit of my particular size.

When all of us students assembled in the room itself Ororo came forward and split us into two teams. "The first team will be the more experienced students, and the second will be the younger ones," she explained. She also took the time to tell me that Professor Xavier was running the courses via a small computer room overhead.

I was put into the second team. I didn't mind a whole lot, but it did miff me that they just assumed I'd be second-rate.

Team One consisted of Scott and Jean--big surprise there--Kurt, Kitty, Rogue and Evan. They were the most worked with at the mansion, so I had heard. My team, which consisted of everyone else, had to move out of the way so that the first team could go through an maze of lazer-shooting robots and stun rays and all kinds of attacks. I watched in relative amazement at the teamwork that the senior students exhibited.

When they completed their objected, I was kind of disappointed at the anti-climactic end to it. Then again, the course hadn't been all that hard, considering there were six senior mutants. If that was the hard course, mine would be a cake walk!

"Ororo!" I called over to her. When I reached her side, I also looked up at the small room where Xavier sat in control. "Do you think I could run a course myself?"

"Parker, you're still a beginner--"

"In this room, I'm Dreamweaver," I told her with a firm edge to my voice. "I would like to be given the opportunity to show my level of skill, if that is alright with you."

Ororo looked up to the box. A light flashed, a signal from Xavier? Whatever it was, she turned to me and nodded. "If you need help, just call," she reminded.

I bowed and headed out into the field. The six seniors were leaving, panting and satisfied. As I passed by Scott, I gave him a wink. "Remember them fightin' words?" I asked him. "They're about to meet their worst nightmare."

His eyebrows rose over his shades. The others looked at me strangely too. I guess they'd never seen a five two blonde, armed with nothing, enter a battle field like a victor. I never had either. It was a show of cocky pride that drove me to it, and some kind of sick pleasure to show of everything I had been made to learn over the last five years.

I heard a whiny sound and a holographic image began to appear of a rocky cavern. Machines shifted beneath my feet and I went into a defensive stance. I hung my hands at my sides. Immediately, as if they had always been there, two metal batons formed in my hands. There were each two feet long, each an inch thick, each made of solid titanium alloy. My weapons of choice.

A few robots came at me. I dodge attacks, moving quickly. Head down, body pivoted, just like I had been taught. I lashed out with a serious of kicks and blows from my batons, each aimed at a new target, each taking them down easily. A few blows were shot at me, I dodged again, falling and rolling and leaping to my feet in one smooth motion. I didn't have to think half of the time, I only had to feel, and to move. My body worked for itself.

After a few minutes, I reached the end of my course. There I stood, panting and sweating and aching from a good fight. But I had done it. I did an entire course alone, and I had beaten it. Half of me was elated, especially from the cheers I go from the students on the other side of the room. But another half of me was scared, very scared of what I just did. This was what DeVero had trained me for, to be a fighting machine. To be merciless and to kill and to destroy at his bidding. It didn't work because I had run away from him, but to know that I could still be some kind of a weapon...made me very frightened.

"Where did you train?" Ororo asked me when she reached where I was standing. I looked at my hands and my batons disintegrated back to where they came from.

"My adopted father had me trained by several martial artist instructors while I was in his care," I said quietly. "As for the control I have on my mutant powers, that was because of my mother."

"Impressive, on both accounts," she said with a smile. I returned it, albeit weakly. She probably mistook it for fatigue, not that it really mattered.

The other students congratulated me, complimented my technique, and asked for pointers. I spoke little, answered a few questions, and sat off to the side for the rest of the session. Scott, who had been particularly impressed by my skills, offered to have a run, just him and me, on the advanced course, but I passed.

"Maybe next round," I said. I was done for the day though. They seemed disappointed by that, I think. To think, me, Parker Watson, would tire of fighting. The proud hath fallen. Mostly I just didn't want to feel my body fight like that again, like I couldn't have stopped it if I wanted to. That would mean DeVero had won, and I was just another mindless mutant machine.

Still, I loved watching the others. They had an awkward grace to them, a flawed routine that got them through most predicaments, mostly because of their trust in each other. I admired and envied them again. Mostly, I was happy to watch them. And I could have gone on watching them perhaps forever, if it wasn't for the fact that they had to rest.

Such runs were done most of the morning. The afternoons the students had free to do whatever they wanted. Kitty asked if I wanted to go hang out with her in town, but I turned her down. I turned down other offers of activities with some of the others too. It wasn't that I didn't want to hang out with them, that I didn't want to get to know them, I just wasn't used to being anyone's friend. I wasn't used to people wanting to be near me.

I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts right now.

So while the teen mutants were enjoying there summer afternoon, I sat on the couch with little Jamie Madrox, watching cartoons on the television. We didn't talk, accept to laugh or comment during commercials. After that I went back up to my room, to lay on my bed and listen to my radio for a while. A while turned into an hour and an hour turned into an evening.

Rahne and Jubilee, who's shared room was across the hall, stopped by to tell me about dinner, but I wasn't hungry, so I didn't go. Instead, I just emptied my mind and meditated for a while. Mom always said meditation helped focus my energies and my powers.

By the time I came too, it was already near to midnight, and I wasn't tired at all. I saw that my journal lay on my desk, forlorn and nearly forgotten, so I grabbed it up with my pen and padded down the hall and into the kitchen. My stomach was growling from my missed meal.

Without turning on a light, I put down my pad and pen on the counter and headed to the fridge, pulling out the pickles. Or as I liked to call them Heaven in a jar. Opened jar beside me, I pulled myself up on to the counter, journal opened in my lap and began to write a letter to my mother.

Halfway through the letter, there was a popping sound a few feet away from me. I jumped, making sure I didn't knock over my jar of pickles or loose my pen. There, in front of a now-opened fridge, stood Kurt Wagner, the Nightcrawler. Okay, maybe now I understood why they called him that.

"You should warn someone before you pop in like that," I commented dryly.

"Yaaa!" Kurt yelped, turning around in front of the fridge. For a second, I doubt he saw me, but then his hand reached the light switch and turned it on. I had to shield my eyes from the bright light.

"Or before you turn on a light!" I growled. "That hurts!"

"Sorry!" he said, quickly turning the light off and using only the fridge light as his guide. "What are you doing here?" he questioned me. His voice was thick with what sounded like a German accent. I like it, it gave him character. I like all accents mostly because I like all languages and can fluently speak three. Perhaps I'll take up German someday.

"Midnight snack," I commented, holding up my pickle jar. "You want?"

"Pickles? Ecccchhh," he commented. I could see him making a face and I laughed. "What's funny?"

"You sound like my brother," I told him with a laugh. "He did that every time I offered him a pickle too. I feel so sorry for the pickle, it is the most underrated of the condiments."

"Well, if they tasted better, they'd get more appreciation, ja?"

I sighed dramatically. "I guess so." I looked at him quizzically and I saw his eyes widen a fraction. He had such pale eyes, though not as stark yellow as my own. My only guess is that I tilted my head enough for the membrane on my eye to reflect. It always seemed to bother people, that I was like a cat in that way. "Do you want me to up on my sunglasses?" I asked him. "I know my eyes can offend people."

"No," he said quickly. "You're fine."

"Okay," I said with a sigh, arching my back until I heard a nice crack. "I'll finish writing in my room."

"How can you write in the dark?" the Nightcrawler asked me.

I grinned. "I can see in the dark too," I said with a smile. "And I must say that Scooby-Doo boxer shorts are a risky fashion statement." His eyes widened then and he looked down. Then he squeaked and tried to cover his lack of pants with his hands and his tail. I laughed, grinning like a fool. "You're too cute," I told him between chuckles. "Enjoy your snacking."

With that I screwed the cap on to my pickle jar, placed it in the fridge again, and headed back upstairs to my room. I could feel Kurt watching me, and I could tell he was both supremely embarrassed and complimented at the same time. It was true though, he was entirely cute--in a fuzzy-blue-boy kind of way.

* * *

...So there you have it, Mom, the whole story as of now.

What I meant when I said the people leave something to be desired, I mean that they are too damn likable. I might start caring, Mom, and that's the worst thing I can do right now. I don't want to like them too much and I don't want them to like me either. Then it'll just hurt them when I have to leave. And I will have to leave eventually. All I can do is hope that they start getting annoying in a hurry.

I'll write to you again soon, I promise.

All my love-- Parker

* * *

A/N: Please R & R!


	3. Entry 3

A/N: Well, I lack for viewer responses, but I didn't expect an onslaught. Regardless, I will continue writing this story because I really do love the idea and the plot. Plus I am on a recent X-Men high and until I ride it off, I'll be writing this story! As always, Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I also just remembered that I haven't done one of these since I started this story. Silly me! Anyway, you know the drill. I do not own anything X-Men: Evolution, yadda yadda, I came up with this idea and Parker is my own character, blah blah blah. Don't expect a repeat of this in any of my other chapters--it's a one time thing.

* * *

Seeking Solace

Chapter 3

* * *

Mother Dearest:

It all began on a dark and stormy night...Seriously!

Normally when someone begins a tale with 'a dark and stormy night', it's to add mystery and drama. Personally, the less drama in my world the better. And I have enough drama, so I don't need to purposely ask for more. And yet, I just couldn't stay away. Maybe I was looking for trouble. I think it was more likely that trouble was looking for me though!

I know I promised to write again soon, but I just haven't had the motivation. It would be a lie to say that I didn't have the time, but I know you already know that, Mom. Mostly I've been getting used to my new surroundings. During the day, I've been watching the mutants around here, observing their powers, their strengths and weaknesses. All of them are intriguing to me, beautiful in their flaws and stunning in their strengths. Each of them has a story to tell me just by the way they move. While I want to know their stories, Mom, I'm too afraid to ask, and more afraid to listen.

Asking would mean opening a door for them to ask about me--not that it has stopped some of the bolder people to pepper me with questions already. I give vague and general answers for the most part. I think that it confuses them, and it can even offend them, but they have been taught not to push. Like I told you, Mom, everyone here has a story to tell. I'd bet you my life savings that half of them are not the most pleasant of stories either.

Did I tell you that I'm starting school? A junior too! I'm old enough to actually be a senior, but because my schooling has been on hiatus the last year or so, they held me back as a junior. I can't believe I'm actually going to attend a public school with all the norms and the kids from the Institute. It makes me...really happy. Like I could be just a normal kid if I tried. When you start over here, there is no past, there is only a future.

It makes me want things, Mom. It makes me wish for things I can never have, and that makes me miserable when no one is looking. Why do I always have to want things I can't have? Why can't I just be happy with what I have now? Why can't I settle?

In some ways, I am much better off now than I was when I was with DeVero. There are no more bars on my windows, no more locks on my door, no more late night visits... I don't have to hurt anyone. But at the same time, I'm still a prisoner because I'm still running. I can't stay here long and I know that. If I stay, he'll find me and I'll bring these good people more trouble than I'm worth. For the past year, I've lived on snack food, park benches, and off the back of a motorcycle.

You tell me, Mom, which life is better? Being the prisoner of a millionaire, one who gave me the best of everything and had me trained by the best teachers money could buy? Or being free to live my life at my choosing while always having to look over my shoulder?

Worst of all, I can't tell this to anyone here. These are the infamous X-Men_, Mom! The people crusading for justice and equality for all mutants. How could I tell them what I've done? How can I explain to them the things I've seen? They'll hate me if they know the truth, even if I did disappear and they never hear from me again. My guilt is enough as it is, remorse so thick it can choke me. I don't need their morals and their disappointment to weight me down as well._

Still, I can't lie when I say I enjoy their company. And that brings me back to the dark and stormy night.

You want to know what I'm talking about? Ok, ok, patience now! I have been living at the Institute for a week now...

* * *

All morning I had thought that something was wrong. All afternoon I was getting very suspicious.

The X-Men had officially made me part of their Danger room drills--on Team One to boot! That day was devoted to training, running a few drills, and last minute preparations before a new school year started and schoolwork would slow down the training schedule.

For some reason, Scott was the only one who seemed disappointed by that.

All during the breaks between runs, I heard the others whispering to each other. Some of them, like Kitty and Rahne and Evan, would look at me every now and then before whispering to each other all over again. It began making me edgy, waiting for some unexpected and random event to happen. I was waiting for the proverbial anvil to fall on my head like I was _Wiley Coyote_. In case you've never felt it, it's not a nice feeling.

Halfway through the day, Ororo presented me with my own uniform, tailored to fit my size and figure. Okay, I'm not a twig like Kitty--that would make me freakishly twig-like. I'm more proportionate, a curve here and there. I'm all sinew and bone, my mother used to tell me. I'm more muscular now, a result from a lot of physical training.

It's not everyday you meet a five two girl who can bench press over a hundred and fifty pounds.

My costume was form fitting, a black material that hugged the right places, and gave me free movement. It was lot better than a tee-shirt and jeans, I can tell you! There was a yellow X on the front, across my chest. I think it was purposely made like that to match my eyes.

I already loved it.

Sadly, my love of fashion was soon hindered by the strange behavior of my new-found housemates. I hadn't been there long, but long enough to know that when someone points and whispers behind your back, it's not a good thing. So I tried to get through the day as smoothly as I could--though I think I snapped a little when I beat a robot into six pieces with my batons during my final run.

After changing back into my normal clothes, I stomped out of the mansion, on to the grounds. The air held that tingling scent, something that promised rain. That's my favorite smell in the world, the smell of fresh rain. Pete always smelled like that because he's love of the outdoors. I always suspected my brother of being more feral than I was, probably because he was a boy which is what most ferals were.

I decided to go for a little walk around the grounds, go to places unexplored. It was best I inspect every inch of the grounds I was staying on, looking for weaknesses in security and for easily accessible escape routes. It never hurts to be prepared. Mostly, I'm sorry to say, it was out of habit from my days as DeVero's bodyguard. Always look for places the enemy might enter or exit, then look for places that you can use to get your charge to safety. Standard procedure when entering any room.

The grounds were as lovely as I expected them to be. Large green lawns rolled from corner to corner of the brick and chain-link fencing. There was a small lake in the far west corner of the grounds, with a tiny dock and an equally tiny boathouse. I wandered inside, checking out the cobweb infested rafters and unused stalls. When I came back outside, I noticed that the leaves on some of the trees were facing down. It was a sure sign of rain, if the darkening sky and the kicked up wind didn't give it away.

I made my way back toward the school, passing the pretty gazebo in the back, lined with thick rose bushes and ivy vines. I have to emphasize my love of plant life once again, seeing as how I spent a good twenty minutes admiring the root system and late buds.

Finally, I was on my way again. I sidestepped the main house in favor of the garage. I had been asked to park my bike in the main garage with the rest of the student's vehicles. I don't think Xavier liked too much the fact that I rode a motorcycle, but I was experienced and I knew the risks. Hey, I wore a helmet didn't I?

I was surprised to come upon Logan, kneeling beside another motorcycle--one I assumed to be his own. He probably knew I was coming, but he didn't look up from his task of tuning up the engine. A rusty toolbox lay open beside him, and his hand groped around for something while his eyes stayed riveted on the problem at hand.

I looked over his shoulder, seeing the problem as well, then grabbed the wrench he was look for. "I think you're looking for this one," I commented, placing it into his greasy searching hand.

He looked at the wrench, then up at me. "Thanks," he said gruffly before going back to his task.

Maybe it was a dismissal, but I was never one to be sent away easily.

"It looks like the connector is fried," I said, tilting my head to one side. "But I must compliment your engine."

He looked up at me with a blank expression. Kitty, the go-to girl if you wanted gossip, or just plain information about anyone in the Institute, told me that Logan's codename was Wolverine. It was kind of hard for me to picture this man as a small mammal that would attack everything in sight. Maybe I was inviting trouble on myself, baiting him into conversation, but when it came to motorcycles, I could talk as fast as Kitty.

"You know somethin' about motorcycles?" Logan asked me. There was disbelief in his voice.

"Did you see what I rode in on?" I asked him. "It's no Harley Davidson, but I keep it nice."

Logan looked at me, and I looked at him. Slowly, we shared a half-smile. I crouched beside him and the two of us continued work on his motorcycle in relative silence--speaking only when he asked for a tool, or I asked a question. I wanted to get involved in something that would help me relax, but I still found myself on edge. It wasn't because of the motorcycle--because mechanics always put me at ease. It was something I could control.

I was scared because I was alone around a man.

One of my principle fears in life is being alone with men. Even men that I knew wouldn't dare to hurt me, or even want to hurt me. Just the fact that they are a man makes me both suspicious and fearful. It's sad to me that I would feel this way, but haunting memories make so hard to get past the fear.

The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. My hands were starting to shake slightly and I felt my ears burning. It wasn't until his fingers brushed against mine when I handed him a tool that I let out a strangled cry and fell back. Logan looked over at me with a quirked expression. I guess he thought I just lost my balance. Then he offered his hand to help me up. It was a nice gesture, but I quickly scrambled away from him.

"I..uh...th-think I sh-should get b-b-back to the house n-now," I stuttered, backing up as I did so, face burning. "Take c-care of the b-bike!"

I turned and ran. I ran like a scared little girl with wolves at her feet. That's what exactly what I felt like. I was a coward, running from a man who meant me no harm. But because he was a man, I had to run. I had run for so long it was all I could do. My fight or flight reflex had become honed to total flight. Against my own irrational fears I was powerless. So I ran.

I felt like crying. I hated crying. It didn't help anyone or anything, so I couldn't tolerate it in myself. But still, I felt like curling into a little ball and crying until I couldn't move. I've done it before, I'm sorry to say. I wished to the heavens I'd never had to do it again, but somewhere in my heart I felt the memories stirring and the tears welling behind my eyes.

Thankfully that was when it started to rain. It began as a few meager drops, but by the time I was halfway to the house, it was pouring buckets. I was thankful for it. It hid the evidence from prying eyes.

When I got inside, I ran past Scott and Jean and Storm who were all sharing a fresh pot of coffee. I ran past Jamie and Jubilee and Rahne on the couch watching television. I ran past Ray and Bobby in the hallway, fighting over who got to listen to some cd or other. I didn't give any of them a second look.

I ran into my tiny room, slammed the door behind me, and dissolved. My clothes were sopping, my hair stuck to my face and neck, and I could barely breathe I was sobbing so hard. It made me think of things I wanted to leave behind me. Memories of darkness and pain, flashes of a face and hands. I could smell blood. I could taste it too. It was just like I was there again.

Suddenly, there came a knock at my door. I choked back my sobs, covering my mouth with both of my hands despite the tears that washed over my fingers. I put myself back together, piece by piece, as fast as I could. But I was a professional at this, so I could do it in a matter of seconds. I swallowed my pain and my fear. I forced my body to stop shaking and I wiped my face on the sleeve of my shirt.

"Parker, are you alright?" came the voice from behind the door. Jean's voice.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, plastering a fake smile on my face. "Yeah, sorry about the running," I told her when I met her eyes. "I'm soaked and I didn't want to drip on the rug."

"Are you sure? You looked upset," she pressed. She brushed some red hair out of her face to get a good look at me, green eyes appraising. I met her gaze steadily, knowing full well that my cat's eyes never gave evidence of crying.

"I'm not that fond of being rained on," I lied. "But I'm fine, really. Just a bit cold. I don't mean to kick you out or anything, but I need to change before I start sneezing on you."

"Okay," she said with a wan smile. I can tell she wanted to believe me, but her gut probably told her differently. "Well, I think I should give you a head's up." Then she grinned and I was relieved that she moved on. "Some of the others are planning to 'initiate' you tonight, so don't be surprised if we barge into your room in the middle of the night."

I grinned back. "Don't be surprised if you don't find me here," I told her, then waved her out as I shut the door and slowly stripped to change into something dry. As I did so, I ran my fingers over a few scars. There was a long one on the underside of my left arm, souvenir from one of my first missions. There were others on my back that I couldn't see, some on my legs, and two parallel lines across my stomach. The only scar that didn't make me wince when touching it was the small silver vee that went through my right eyebrow. That was a scar I got as a child, when I fell out of a tree in our backyard when playing with the brother. The rest were from beatings, or fights. None of them added to whatever beauty I could claim I once had.

Halfway through my inspection, I was surprised to see that there was a pile of clothes on my bed. I had just done my laundry the night before, and I didn't recognize any of the clothes that lay neatly in the pile. Curious, I inspected them. Pinned to the first article was a note.

"We thought you could use a few additions to your wardrobe. All of us donated something that we thought you'd like. Hope you like them!" It was just signed 'the X-men'.

I smiled, tears abated once more. These people seemed to brighten even my darkest moments. Moving the note aside, I rummaged through the offered clothes. A few faded pairs of jeans from the guys since they fit my hips but hung loose the rest of the way down; a couple shirts that reminded me that I wasn't very well endowed in the chest area; and even a new pair of ultra comfy pajama pants. Those were courtesy of Kitty. But my favorite had to be a sweatshirt. It was dark blue and about two sizes too big and it had that baggy-but-warm feeling to it.

Since I was a little cold anyway, I slipped it on over my head along with the pajama pants from Kitty. I might not be a supermodel from Paris, but I was comfortable, and that's what mattered. Looking over my new sweatshirt, I wondered who it was from. I could tell it was from a boy, the size and the style gave that away, but who?

Either way, I'd have to thank everyone later. Even though I'd probably stutter and blush at the fact that they noticed I owned a limited amount of clothes. Oh well, all for the cause, right?

Dinner was being served, so I padded barefoot down to the kitchen. I was the last to get a plate, but everyone welcomes me at the table. I seemed that at mealtimes, everyone naturally accommodated a spot for everyone else without looking up from their plates. I actually opted to sit at the more opened part of the table with Rogue and Jamie. Both of them looked up when I sat down, then went back to their meals.

"I take it this is the casual dinning section," I commented as I picked at my food.

"It's safer down here," Jamie said, taking a bite from a carrot. "Up there, you either get mauled in conversation or totally ignored."

"Good thing I came here then," I told him with a sigh. "I'm not up for being mauled via conversation." There were a few more minutes of silence where the three of us picked at our plates, but said nothing. I looked over at Rogue, who seemed to be concentrating very hard on her peas. "How's the rose?" I asked.

She blinked back into focus and looked up at me. "It's fine Ah guess," she told me. "Just left it on my dressa."

I nodded, pushing the food around with a fork. "I hope you don't mind that I put you on the spot like that." I looked over at her and grinned impishly. "You seem like the only person around here with any flare."

"What's that mean?" she asked, looking at me in a confused and suspicious way.

I looked around and leaned toward her in a conspiring way. "Everyone around here is some kind of prep or skater. You seem like someone with a different taste."

Suddenly, the pale-skinned girl broke into a lovely smile. "Thank ya," she told me. Thus the ice was broken between Rogue and me. And I made myself a friend.

By the end of dinner, everyone was nodding their heads as if they knew something us three at the end of the table did not. I looked to Rogue and she only smiled passively. "Initiation," she mumbled. "They think they're bein' smart. It's juss somethin' they do ta newbies."

"Hurray for the newbies!" I cried loudly, making the others turn to me strangely. I grinned as if I hadn't just shouted and they went back to their cleaning.

Rogue grinned. "Yer crazy," she told me.

"Ah know," I said, mimicking her accent. I picked up my plate and headed toward the kitchen with it. "It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to get it done!"

After dinner was done, I went into the other room with Rogue and Jamie to watch television. We ended up watching cartoons, which didn't bother me or Rogue. We just conversed now and them about music or movies. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Rogue was a closet comic fan, such as myself.

"So yer motha named ya after Spiderman?" she asked with a smile and a glint of humor in her green eyes.

"Yeah!" I laughed. "Our real parents didn't give us names, so when my mother adopted Pete and me, she named us after her favorite superhero. Peter and Parker, after Spiderman. And her last name was Watson, like Mary Jane!"

We shared a laugh. Comic book logic is always a light-hearted subject. But then the clock above the mantle chimed and Rogue frowned. It was nearing eleven. "Ya should get ta bed. They'll be comin' for ya at one or so."

"I'll catch a few winks in the library," I told her, getting up and cracking my back. "I left a good book there last night and I'm eager to get back to it."

Rogue shook her head and got up to, before poking Jamie awake with the toe of her boot. The boy had fallen asleep on the rug watching _Teen Titans_. "Time for bed squirt," she chimed. Then she looked back at me. "I'll see ya at the initiation."

"Later," I said with a wave.

"By the way," she said with a half-smile, looking back at me. "Why did ya take Kurt's sweatshirt?"

I looked down at myself. "This is Kurt's?" Rogue nodded. "There was a pile of clothes in my room before. Hand-me-downs from some of the other students. I didn't know this was his."

"It looks good on ya," she said told me with a smirk, heading toward the stairs with Jamie at her heels. I looked down at my new sweatshirt and smiled. It figures that it would be blue.

* * *

The students came for me around one-thirty. I was almost at the end of my novel, but when I heard the shuffling outside and the muffled voices, I sacrificed my reading for something much more fun. I got out of my chair and inched toward the door, pressing my ear to it.

No doubt about it, all of them were out there, and arguing over who goes inside to wake me up. I could just bet Rogue was smirking in the back. She knew I would be wide awake. Jean would probably know it to, considering she had warned me. But the boys had no clue--i.e.: Scott, Evan, Ray, Roberto and Bobby--the ringleaders of this escapade.

Casually as you please, I pulled the two library doors open, flooding the dark hallway with light and causing all five of the aforementioned boys to fall at my feet. "Would you lot kindly keep it down?" I asked in mock outrage. "Some people are trying to read!"

"Who told her?!" Evan grumbled loudly.

"No one had to tell me," I corrected him. "I could hear you from the hallway upstairs."

"Well come on then," Bobby said with a grin. "You're going to have to pass a little test."

"And me without my number two pencil," I sighed. That got snickers and I grinned, emboldened.

"Not that kind of test," Ray said with a smirk. "The kind of test that matters."

I clapped a hand to my mouth. "Whatever could that be!" I said overdramatically.

"Initiation," Sam said from the background. He held up a little finger and whirled it around to show his enthusiasm. "They make you do a task. If you pass, then you're one of us."

"Fail, and you'll be shunned from our table," Bobby said menacingly, flashing a flashlight under her face a few times for effect. I rolled my eyes.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"What we are about to impart upon you is something that no student can tell to a teacher," Scott said seriously. "It's a tradition, but something we don't want the instructors to catch on to."

"I'd say that's about as likely as Rogue shopping at Abercrombie & Fitch," I said with a lazy smile. "Those guys know everything that goes on here."

"Be that as it may," Scott continued, obviously flustered by my comments. "We still would like you to perform a task. That way, you will officially be an X-man."

"Ah think ya mean X-woman," I heard Rogue comment from the background.

I smiled and nodded. "It's only fair to be politically correct, Mr. Summers, or I can sue you for sexual harassment." He frowned. "Okay, okay. Sheesh, you drag a girl away from her romance novel in the dead of night and you don't expect witty repartee?" With a sigh, I clapped my hands together. "What am I to do?"

Jean sighed. "Enough with the melodrama." She turned to me and flashed a half-smile. "You're supposed to sneak into the X-jet and fill one of the helmets with whipped cream."

I raised an eyebrow at the five masterminds. "It was all Roberto's idea!" Ray said, pointing to the boy at his side.

"No, it was Ray's idea!" he quickly denied, returning it to his friend.

"It was, like, both their ideas," Kitty spoke up, yawning loudly afterwards. "And it's totally lame."

"I'll say! Can't I turn it on? Take it for a spin? Something?"

"You don't want to do that!" Kurt said from the left. "Last time the X-jet was taken for a joy-ride, they were caught. Big time!" There were nods all around and I couldn't restrain the grin that came unbidden to my lips.

"And here I thought you were all straight-laced," I laughed. "How about I do something better?"

"Such as?" Evan asked.

I smiled and strolled forward. "I'm going to steal Logan's motorcycle." There was a round of surprised gasps. I heard some of the boys saying it was a great idea, some of the girls say it was a dangerous idea, and Rogue only smiled as I passed. "It's cake," I told her. "I've hotwired bikes before."

"Juss be careful he doesn't find out," she warned.

"Oh ye of little faith," I grinned at her. I led the procession out back toward the garage. It was still pouring rain outside. Though I might be able to see in the dark, but the other's couldn't. I didn't want anyone to get hurt because of my eagerness to show off. "Wait here," I told them. "I'll ride out front so you can see. No sense in all of us getting soaked."

There were some nods. I was about to step out when I turned back to Rogue. "Hold this for me," I told her, shrugging out of my warm blue sweatshirt. There was a tight tee-shirt underneath, one of my old ones that I just slept in. It was enough to see me through this stunt. "I'll be back," I said in a mocking accent before heading out into the night.

"The girl's out of her mind," I heard Scott say from beside Rogue. The Goth girl only laughed.

I snuck into the dark garage, opening the garage door manually before bypassing my own motorcycle and the other vehicles until my eyes narrowed in on the unmistakable shape of a Harley Davidson. I crept over, forming a screwdriver in my open palm and using it to pop the front panel off of the bike. That got, I straddled the machine, cutting and twisting two wires together to make it start. The quiet garage was suddenly filled with the roar of a bike engine and the single headlight knifed through the darkness before me.

I laughed, swinging the machine around and gunning it toward the open door. Then I was shocked by the sudden bath of cold water that was dumped over my head as I sped out into the night. I swung around, foot scraping the driveway as I roared past the front doors. The other students were huddled there, watching me with shocked and delighted expressions.

After I looped around the drive a few times, I took the bike back into the garage and spent a good fifteen minutes fixing it up so Logan would never notice. He probably would notice anyway--he was a bike man--but he'd never be able to prove it when I was finished. Then I closed the garage door and ran out into the rain again.

Maybe it was just coming off an adrenaline high, but for some reason, I felt empowered. I danced around in the pouring rain, laughing my head off. Maybe it was because of what had happened that afternoon, the almost-breakdown that had cost me many hours of pensive brooding. Maybe I just needed it, and I shouldn't think of why.

By the time I ran back up the stairs to the school, it was nearly three thirty. Most of the others were dead on their feet, so I told them to get as I squeezed out my soaking hair. Kitty had gone upstairs and grabbed me some fresh clothes. I thanked her with a very wet hug. She squeaked, then laughed, then went to bed.

I ran into the downstairs bathroom to change. When I came out, only Rogue waited for me. "Did I pass?" I asked her as she handed my sweatshirt back.

"Probably," she said with a nod. "But ya never can tell. Ah think Evan and Ray might hold it against ya considering ya juss succeeded where they've failed s'many times."

"Since when is it my fault that boys are inadequate?" I questioned.

"Well, Ah'm goin' ta bed," she said with a yawn. "G'nite."

"'Night!" I called after her. With a sigh, I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and padded toward the kitchen. This was an occasion that called for a pickle! I was surprised to find that I was not alone in the kitchen. Kurt had beat me to it, already seated--or crouched rather--in my spot on the counter.

He looked surprised to see me as well. I smiled slightly and walked toward the fridge. "Pickles are on the door," he commented as I opened it.

"Still hate them?" I asked, pulling them out.

"Still love them?" he countered.

"Heaven in a jar," I said with a grin. "The food of the Gods."

"Huh," he said with a thoughtful expression. "I always thought that was sugar."

I was quiet a moment, looking at him from over my pickle jar. He looked back at me, a half-eaten sandwich poised ready for another bite. Then I giggled--not an out and out laugh, but not a snort or disinterested grunt. I giggled, something I hadn't done in years simply because his statement made absolutely no sense.

Satisfied with my response, he continued eating his sandwich. I grabbed a large pickle from the jar, put the rest back, and hopped on to the counter beside him.

"Glad to see you wearing pants tonight," I commented, taking a crunchy bite.

"Ja, like after last night I would forget," Kurt snorted, taking another bite.

"I was only making an observation," I said sweetly, barely containing my laugh. We continued eating in silence, Kurt and me. The only sounds were the rain against the windows and the occasional sound of his tail thumping the counter behind us. I was surprised by the fact that I could comfortably sit beside this boy and not feel that afraid.

Yes, I was still nervous. Yes, the fear was still there, but it wasn't as pronounced as it had been with Logan. It wasn't crawling on the surface, threatening to suffocate me. It was in the back of my head, a dull throb, when I was around Kurt. Maybe it was because he reminded me a little of Peter. That and because he was young, a few months younger than me to be exact, and not a man capable of overpowering me.

Whatever the reason, I didn't dwell on it. I just ate my pickle and enjoyed the feeling of a warm person beside me. It was nice, a treat to a lonely person.

Eventually, we both finished and stood to leave for our respective nightly activities. As I looked over at Kurt beside me, about to head upstairs where as I would be heading down the hall to the library, I was suddenly struck by the urge to do something I did not think I would ever have the courage in the world to do. I grabbed his arm, just above the elbow and raised myself on to toes. He was a good four inches taller than me, so I had to stretch a little. I placed a soft kiss against his cheek, something I had never done to a boy not of blood before in my life.

Apparently he was as surprised as I was, though outwardly I was more nervous that shocked. "Thanks for the sweatshirt," I said with an almost painful shyness.

"S-sure," he said quietly, pale eyes holding a look of confusion and something else.

"Goodnight," I said, then escaped to the library.

I ran away again, to a book and a journal and a new letter to my mother.

* * *

...And that's the whole story, Mom.

I know I shouldn't have done that. I regret it now, though I would be lying if I said that all of me was upset over it. I really am grateful for the sweatshirt--and for the other clothes that the others gave to me. The people here are so kind.

I'm counting the days I have here. The longest I've ever stayed in one place since leaving DeVero was two months, but he nearly found me and I don't want him coming here. He might be tempted to do something to the school, or even Professor Xavier, for having me here so long. I'd say six weeks is the most I have.

Five weeks now. Five weeks with these lovely people.

Did I tell you that Xavier brought me into the Cerebro room yesterday? We started searching for Peter again, in the same places where I've heard rumors of his being. So far, we found old trails of his power signature, but nothing strong enough to do a global search on. He promises to keep looking and I know he will.

Five weeks, Mom. It doesn't seem very long at all. I just hope that it's enough time to find my brother, if not enough time for me to enjoy this place and this life I could build.

I am not a normal girl, Mom. I know that. I've always known that. But sometimes, it's nice to pretend.

All my love-- Parker

* * *

A/N: Remember to review now! And thanks for reading! I'm going to do reviewer responses this chapter because I want to thank you for reviewing!

Psycho88: I'm glad you are enjoying this story, I'm working on it really hard. Parker's past will be given slowly, though a lot of it can be guessed out. Most of what makes her who she is stems from what she's been though. A lot of it won't come to a head until later on though.

Idypebsaby: I'm glad you like my story and Parker. I like her too--which is why I decided to use her as my main character. School will be discussed in more detail in chapter 4, so hang on to your hat! In answer you your other questions: Yes. Yes. And maaaaaaaaaaaaaybe. Keep reading!


	4. Entry 4

A/N: Can't resist the call of the update, nope nope nope! I'm really impressed with myself for going the extra mile and writing so much. I have no idea how long this story will be anymore, considering I'm making the chapters long--for me anyway. I'm thinking somewhere in the neighborhood of ten? Don't quote me though! Anyway, this is a fun chapter to write. Enjoy!

I dedicate this chapter to Vonna, the Romy-holic and my midnight conspirator in regards to this story. Thanks!

* * *

Seeking Solace

Chapter 4

* * *

Dear Mom:

It happened. Yes, it really did. For the first time in my reasonably short life, I went to an actual school. And when I say a real school, I mean a real school, Mom. Lunch trays and spitballs and lockers...even gym class. The whole nine yards.

I expected to be scared, or nervous, but surprisingly, I wasn't. It was actually, kinda nice.

I met a few people, got a few text books, and even a paper cut! Okay, you know you're a loser when you're happy over a paper cut, but it's all for the greater good.

I know that you may be thinking that I'm slaking off, Mom. That I'm having too much fun pretending and not doing enough to find Peter--which is my cause for being here in the first place. Maybe you're even a little right about it. I am_ having too much fun here. But I haven't forgotten about Pete. In fact, I made it a priority to see Professor Xavier every evening to have a private Cerebro session. So far, there haven't been any outstanding findings, but we'll keep looking until we find him._

Or until I have to leave.

I have an empty feeling when I tick the days off on the small two dollar calendar I bought from a drug store. Four weeks is all the stands between me and leaving this place. It's not one of those happy feelings of anticipation, like when you're waiting for the sequel to a movie, or to go on a vacation, or for a fanfiction update.

No, this is the kind of nervous anticipation you have before you get caught doing something wrong. Or before you know you're going to die.

I'm full of nervous tension, Mom, and I don't like it. It only really compounds on me at night when no one else is around. My days are usually too hectic to allow me much time for random thought. The nights are just so quiet, so lonely for me.

This week was so full of new things to experience and discover, just like last week. School, Mom, is something just like, and so unlike, anything I ever expected it to be. I love it and hate it already, even after only one day. Mostly, I just want to continue on with it. To see where it takes me. Like a running river where I'm clinging to a piece of driftwood.

Rogue would be my driftwood. It's funny really, Mom. Hell, I've never had many friends, let alone a girl! I was always surrounded by men, except for you. She is something though, all spitfire and southern belle. Our conversations are never dull, and I feel a kinship to her that's pretty nice. Best thing of all--I'm not scared to be alone around her. She's a girl, and I've never feared women. I can totally be at ease and be myself in her company. It makes my life a whole lot simpler in one aspect.

Then there is my other problem. His name is Kurt. You remember that incident that happened last week right? After the rain? After that, I kind of avoided him for a while. I went nearly four days without being alone with him, until I was driven by my insane pickle urge and he popped in for a midnight snack again. We were awkward at first, considering I really don't know what drove me to kiss him in the first place--even if it was only on the cheek. But then we got into a debate on the misunderstood pickles once again, and our awkwardness was over.

Much like my relationship with Rogue, Kurt and I exchange banter and witticism. There are times when I feel totally at ease in his company, and no matter how rare they are, I look forward to them. We talk about pointless things, food and music and movies. He's even taught me a slew of German curse words. We don't talk about family or pasts. He doesn't bring it up, neither do I. Same thing with Rogue.

Perhaps I should go back to a safer topic, like school! Okay, I admit I'm eager. Wouldn't you be, Mom? Ok, you dragged it out of me, I'll tell you about it! It began bright and early...

* * *

I beat the morning bathroom rush by about two hours, giving me plenty of time to enjoy a hot shower. As I walked back to my room, wrapped in a terry bathrobe and hair in a towel wrap, I felt surprisingly calm considering I was going to have to start my first day of school in a little more than three hours.

I had gone to the building itself a few days earlier with Ororo, who explained to me that I had to be registered and get a class schedule. I was a little miffed that I had to stay back a year, but my annoyance quickly became pleasant surprise when I realized that both Kurt and Rogue were in my grade with me. I would have more of a chance having classes with them that way.

After getting my schedule and reference papers, Ororo took me out to get some supplies. I was good on clothes now thanks to my donations from the other kids, and my fervent permission from both Rogue and Kitty that I could pick from their wardrobe if required. Despite her chattiness, I had come to like Kitty a lot. She had a lot of spirit, and a lot of surprises too.

"Ororo?" I asked, following after her cart as we wandered through Staples. She picked and chose some notebooks and binders. "Why do I need all of this stuff? I'll only be here a few weeks!"

"Just in case," she told me with a secret smile. It was like she knew something I didn't.

I shrugged. "Ok," I told her. "It's your money."

That made her look at me strangely. "Parker?"

"Yeah-huh?"

"How did you get money while you were on the road?"

I opened my mouth to reply, then shut it. That was one of the things I had hoped no one would ask me. Still, I couldn't lie, but it was rather...illegal. And no, I didn't whore myself or anything that desperate. Sometimes I'd work odd-jobs that would only last a few weeks. I never exactly stole, but sometimes, when I had no other choice, I'd use my powers.

I hung my head when I told her that. "I never made anything over a twenty," I told her with a frown. "I've never seen anything over a twenty close enough to make a passable copy of anyway. It was only when I had no other choice, and that wasn't often. I never felt right about doing that."

"You shouldn't do that anymore," she told me firmly, but not without kindness.

"I don't plan on it. Sometimes, it just happened."

"Come along then," she said, wheeling the cart on. "We have to find you a backpack now."

I scampered after her. "You mean, you're not mad?"

"Desperation drives us to do things we normally wouldn't do," she said wisely. "I don't think you are enough of a dishonest person to do such a thing on a regular basis."

I grinned at her. "You really are a kicker, you know that?" She smiled back at me and finished our shopping.

When we got back to the Institute, I carried a few of her bags up to her room with her. That's the first time I had even been in her room, and I was overjoyed. "Ororo!" I said, dropping the bags and hurrying to the window. "You have a Chia herb garden!"

She laughed. "That was a Christmas present from Evan."

"African violets," I breathed, brushing my fingers tentatively across the delicate leaves. "Miniature roses. Wow, you even have a bonsai tree!"

"You seem to know a lot about plants," she said with a pleasant smile.

"My guilty pleasure," I confided. "My mother had the most beautiful garden in our backyard. I used to pretend I was Mary, from _The Secret Garden_. Peter would always be Colin. We could play for hours in all the flowers." I stroked a large violet blossom as I reminisced. "Flowers were the first things that I created with my power, when I was nine."

"Here." I turned as Ororo handed me a small potted plant. It was browning around the leaves' edges. "You seem to care about plants as much as I do. This is my youngest ivy plant. I just can't seem to make it well again. Do you think you could help me?"

I looked at the small green-and-brown plant in my arms, them to the lovely woman before me. Cradling the pot in one hand, I wrapped the other around her. "Thank you," was all I managed for a moment.

Ororo reminded me of Selene in some ways. The way she walked and held herself, like elegant royalty. The way she spoke with affectionate firmness. Her love of plants, and her devotion to children in need. Maybe that's why I cried when I hugged her, inhaling a scent of soil and the metallic scent of a storm.

Ororo never mentioned that afternoon in her room after I left. I never brought it up either. We had an unspoken agreement over it that resulted in my potted plant. I placed in on my window sill. I watered it, and gave it sun. I talked to it, reading aloud from books or reading back some of the entries in my journal to it. I even resorted to singing once. Slowly but surely, my ivy plant grew healthy again, with no signs of brown. The little vines reached eagerly toward my hand when I stroked it, green and glowing for the sun.

I named it Selene.

Mom always said that naming a plant, giving it an identity, would help it grow. A plant was just another living creature, like a cat or a dog. It just didn't have a language that we could hear. A plant could only be felt.

As I walked into my room the morning I would be starting school, I walked over to Selene and checked her soil to see if I should water her before I go.

"Looking good Sel," I told her with a grin. "I'll water you some tonight. I'm sure you'll get sun this afternoon enough to make you thirsty."

Then I wandered over to my bed, where I had a few options laid out for last minute selection. I had stayed up 'late' last night in Rogue and Kitty's room, going through their closet with them. Kitty was all about fashion, but because we were so fond of her, Rogue and I sat attentively in attention. Also joining us were Rahne and Jubilee. They were more fascinated by Kitty's rant than Rogue and I were.

"We, like, have to coordinate," she informed us. "We can't wear anything alike, or it will ruin our atmosphere."

"We have atmosphere?" I whispered to Rogue. She shrugged.

"Jean already told me that she's, like, wearing yellow tomorrow, so that leaves that selection out. Parker!"

"Huh?" I asked, jumping slightly.

"You can't wear yellow tomorrow," she said with a half-smile. "Half your wardrobe is yellow."

"Of course it is!" I complained. "I'm a blonde with yellow eyes! What am I supposed to wear, fuchsia?"

Jubilee giggled, then shook her head. "Not what we mean, Park." Park was what most of the students had started calling me. I didn't mind--in fact, I found it kind of flattering. Only the adults, Rogue, Kitty, and Kurt called me Parker anymore.

"What _did_ she mean then, Jubes?" I asked the girl across the room. She was half done with doing Rahne's nails a nice lavender purple.

"She meant that you should try something out of her closet, as a new look. You can't wear your jeans and tee-shirts _all_ the time."

"Why thank you Jubilee," I said sarcastically, sticking my tongue out at her. "I'll be sure to read the next issue of Cosmo!"

Rahne giggled with her roommate, then looked up at me with a soft brown gaze, head cocked to one side. "School is all about first impressions," she explained. "If you don't dress to impress, you'll go no where fast on the social ladder."

"I don't want to climb a social ladder," I whined. "I just want to pass Algebra!"

"Don't botha," Rogue told me with a smile. "They're gigglin' school girls."

I nodded, then dodged the pillows being thrown at us. "Let's, like, focus people!" Kitty called attention. "We're not finished."

"I call purple," Rahne said, looking at her finished nails. "It'll match my Jubilee manicure."

"Okay, yellow and purple, like, are done. I'll be wearing pink, as per usual..." Kitty ticked off the colors on her list. "Rogue will be wearing green, yes?"

"Uh-huh," the Goth girl said with a lazy smile. "As per usual," she drawled.

"I can still wear my yellow coat, right?" Jubilee asked. Kitty nodded. "Cool! Okay, I'll wear blue then."

"Darn!" I said, snapping my fingers. "I was going to take blue."

"Snooze, ya lose," Jubilee taunted me. I hurled her pillow back at her.

"So all that's left is you Parker," Kitty told me, grabbing one of my arms and hauling me over to her and Rogue's closet. "Let's, like, see what color looks best on you." I let myself be dragged along and sucked into the mess of teenage girl syndrome with a smile. It was actually...kinda fun.

"Orange?" Jubilee suggested as she and Rahne joined us at the closet.

"Gee, thanks Jubes," I muttered as she held a bright orange dress up to me for size comparison. As expected, it made me look sickly.

"Why not tan?" Rahne suggested, holding over a light brown shirt. It would have looked nice with a pair of jeans, but it just wasn't me.

"Can't go wrong with white," Kitty said. She plucked a white blouse out of her closet and held it up to me.

"I dunno," I said while making a face.

"Outta the way," Rogue said with a sigh, waving the others away from me. She gave me a quick once over, then reached into her closet. I was prepared for the worst, but what she extracted wasn't another gag-worthy shirt. It was, in fact, a black jacket with silver clasps on the left side and a pair of black pants with a blue stripe going down each side. "Try this."

I held it up to myself for comparison. Rogue was taller than me, but it looked like it would make a pretty good fit--and fit all the right places. "Wow," I said, looking to my friend. "Thanks Rogue."

"Don't thank me yet," she said with that pretty accent. "Thank me after ya wear it for a day."

So after another hour of laughing and complaining and talking about school, we were sent to bed by Ororo. I took the borrowed clothes and laid them out on my bed before going down for my casual, usual midnight snack with Kurt. He didn't disappoint, popping in an hour later for our nightly chat-on-rye.

After he went back to bed, I caught a few hours' sleep and began my morning ritual. I dressed in Rogue's outfit and laced my black sneakers up tight. Then I put in my color contact lenses, the ones DeVero made me wear whenever I went out because he didn't want anyone knowing I was a mutant unless it was a promised threat. When I looked at myself in the dresser mirror, blue eyes staring back at me, I began feeling a little guilty. Here I was, going to school and laughing it up with girls, when I should be out there looking for my brother.

I brushed my hair with a frown, then held it back with a clip. My hair is very strange. The front is shorter than the back, so there are these strands that always fall around my face regardless of what I do. It gives me a haunted look. In that moment, wearing all black, I didn't really like it.

Without applying any of the make-up Kitty loaned me, I walked out of my room with only a brief goodbye to Selene and a pause long enough to grab my backpack. Then I went into the kitchen and brewed some coffee. Ororo joined me a little later and we made breakfast together.

Eventually everyone came down and ate. Kitty and Rahne even complimented me outfit. Rogue only smiled, refusing to gloat about the fact that she was right. I felt a little awkward though--considering half the boys at the table were giving me that predatory stare a male gives a female he's about to ask to Prom. I wanted to curl up in a corner. Worse? I wanted to scream at them to stop looking at me. I'm not a girl that goes on a nice date with a nice boy. I'm not a bad girl that fucks and walks. I'm nothing to a man, and I've never wanted to be anything to a man. End of story.

As soon as I finished, I put my dishes in the sink, said my goodbyes to Ororo, and left for the garage. I had to escape the eyes and breathe a little fresh air. I was happily surprised the Rogue followed me, still taking bites out of a half-eaten apple.

"Fruit's good this time o' year," she commented idly, walking beside me.

"The boys were looking at me," I said. She hadn't asked, but I wanted to tell her. "I don't like being looked at much."

"Ya should get used to it," she told me with a pensive expression. "Yer a pretty girl."

"Normally, you'd get a 'thank you', but pretty for me is not something I like." I sighed, touching the silver scar over my eyebrow. "If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell any of the others?" I looked over at her, silently pleading for confidence in her.

Rogue nodded, sensing the seriousness of the situation. "O' course," she told me, patting my arm with a gloved hand in a comforting gesture.

I hugged myself and looked away from her. "I've never had a female friend before. The only woman I was ever close with was my mother. She died when I was eleven, and after that, my foster father kept me locked in his home unless he had need of me elsewhere. All my guards were men. All my instructors were men. All of them looked at me, and I hated each of them for it."

Rogue placed her hand on my arm again, looking at me with compassion but without pity. I patted her hand and smiled at her. I realized now that I had really grown to care for this girl and her subtle gestures and her haunting eyes.

I would have hugged her--and the 'no touching' thing wasn't what stopped me. Fact was, neither of us were that affectionate of people. We were more contained, more controlled. That's what drew us to each other, and we fed upon it from one another.

With a sigh, I cracked my neck and looked toward the garage. Then I looked back at her and grinned. "Wanna ride to school?"

"On yer bike?" she asked, eyes sparkling already.

"Totally!" I said. We dashed off together, my unease already forgotten.

I loaned Rogue my helmet and instead 'borrowed' Logan's. He wouldn't mind too much. Just like he hadn't minded too much about my borrowing his motorcycle. Yes, he had figured out it was taken. I was the first he came to, but I neither confirmed nor denied. I don't like to lie. He didn't punish or yell. All he did was say that if 'I was gonna touch his bike, I sure as hell better fix the wiring better'. Thus it was left as an unspoken challenge I was yet to take up.

I started up my bike, both mine and Rogue's backpacks in the saddle bags. I revved the engine, then swung us in the direction of the school. We were off just as the rest of the students were coming out to their own vehicles. Rogue even had the nerve to wave as we past. They only caught sight of us, but I'm sure all of them heard us laughing.

When we got to the High School, I parked my bike in the first available spot. It was kinda out-of-the-way, just in case anyone got the bright idea to steal it or anything. Rogue and I fished out of bags and schedules, happily discussing how we had almost all of our classes together, except I was taking a writing class and she had a music class. After careful prods by yours truly, she spilled that she played the guitar and dabbled in singing. After that, I made her promise to sing for me that afternoon.

As we walked toward the school, I looked around the grounds. All clean-cut and pretty, like any suburban high school should be. Bayville High was written above the doors grandly, announcing our welcome. I looked toward Rogue, ready for her usual banter, but she had slowed and her eyes were trained on something else.

I followed her gaze and saw that it was on a figure leaning against a nearby tree, maybe fifty feet from us. A second glance made me sure that it was a guy, dressed casually in a long leather jacket, with a lit cigarette in his hand. I tilted my head and looked toward Rogue. She was staring at him as if he was lifeline to the Earth. I turned back to look again at the man by the tree. He seemed to be around eighteen, and was very handsome with dark hair that fell across his face in that scruffy/dashing way. He wasn't looking in our direction at first, but when he did turn our way, I saw that his eyes almost glowed red. A mutant!

"Oh, he's cute," I commented so that only she could hear. Rogue jumped and looked at me.

"Wha?"

"I said he's cute," I repeated, looking her in the eye. "Tree-boy. The one you're drooling over."

"Ah am _not_ droolin'," she said indignantly. Like I should be ashamed that I even thought of such a thing!

"Come on now," I snickered. "You were giving him a pretty long once-over." Rogue turned haughty on me, looking away and crossing her arms. I struck a nerve. Then I realized it. "You like him, don't you?!"

She only stared at me, her mouth hanging open. "Are ya_ insane_?! I don't _like_ 'im! I can barely _stand_ 'im!"

"Ah-ha!" I said triumphantly. "So you know him!"

"Ah neva said I didn't," Rogue responded stubbornly.

"So who is he?" I asked curiously. I looked over again and he was watching the pair of us with open amusement. Oh, I liked him already! Even if he was a guy. Best part? He was totally checking out Rogue, barely looking at me! Normally a girl would be insulted, but I was absolutely elated.

"The enemy," she responded firmly.

"Enemy?"

"He works for the bad guys," she told me with a flat expression. I couldn't be sure, but a look of what could have been sadness flashed in her eyes. "The guys we fight."

"The Brotherhood guys that Scott's always yelling about?" I asked, looking at him again. Somehow, I doubted he was in high school.

"Naw, he works directly for Magneto, the _really_ bad one."

I nodded, frowning slightly. "Doesn't mean he's a bad guy," I insisted. "Good people can be driven to bad things, but it doesn't mean _they're_ bad."

"Ah s'pose," she said with a shrug. "Not that I care."

I grinned, then got a perfectly devious idea. I slid my backpack off of my shoulder. "Hold this, would you dear?"

Rogue took it and gave me a bewildered look. "Where ya goin'?"

"I need a smoke," I said casually. Then I turned from my friend and sauntered toward the tree. The guy beneath it already raised an eyebrow at my actions, but he pushed himself up to a respectable height and regarded me politely. "Good morning," I said cheerily. "I was wondering if I could beg a cigarette off of you."

"But of course," he said ever so politely, offering me his half-crushed pack. And I would have you know that that he had the most delicious French accent. Of the three languages I spoke, French was by far my favorite, so I couldn't resist baiting him into conversation to see whether or not the accent was for show.

"Vous parlez Français?" I asked him.

He looked a little surprised for a moment, then smiled lazily as he brought his cigarette to his mouth. Now that I could see him up close, I could tell that his eyes really were red--red and black. It was a distinguished mutant trait. Like myself, he was born with the eyes of a mutant and the body of a norm. "Naturellement je parle Francais," he responded.

I smiled back, enchanted, then reached up and plucked the lit cigarette from his mouth. I brought it to my lips and took a small drag. Casually, in a conversational tone, I told him that I had seen him looking at Rogue. "Je vous ai vu regarder mon ami."

I can't explain why I felt so daring all of a sudden. I wasn't feeling threatened by this young man at all. It was probably because Rogue was not far away and I could feel her glaring daggers at my back every second. I always felt braver when she was around, and braver still when I could get a rise out of her.

Tree-boy, as I had dubbed him, smiled somewhat impishly, like halfway between being sorry and not being sorry at all. He was caught, that was all. "Elle est tres jolie," he said to defend his own actions. I guess he felt that by saying Rogue was pretty, I would excuse his behavior. Of course I already forgave him, but it was fun to see how far I could go with this.

I took another puff of his cigarette and handed it back to him. "Mon nom est Parker." I introduced myself with a smile. "Ne la regardez pas encore." Still, I kept my voice casual as I tone him not to look at her before grinning and adding, "A moinsque vous vouliez avoir affaire avec moi."

He grinned at me easily, not at all heeding my empty threat. I think he liked my attitude. "Je suis Remy," he told me, even daring to bow his head slightly. When he looked up, he met my eyes. "Et je ne peux m'empecher de regarder votre ami."

I snorted and smiled. He was a very charming sucker, and I was completely under his spell. As I turned to leave, I looked back. "You shouldn't smoke those," I told him in English now. "They'll kill you."

I heard him chuckling as I walked back to a very steamed looking Rogue. I smiled at her and she shoved my backpack at me as she stomped off. "Hold on Rogue!" I laughed.

"Why did ya do that?" she vented on me. Her green eyes flashed dangerously, but I could tell by the blush on her face that she was jealous more than angry. "Ya shoulda ignored 'im. That's what we're s'posed ta do!"

"I'm sorry, really!" I told her. "I just wanted to talk to him. He seemed like a nice guy."

She was silent for a minute. "Ah didn't know ya smoked," was all she said.

"Nasty habit I picked up a few years back. I quit though," I assured her. "I just puff now and again. It was just an excuse to bait him into conversation."

"Were ya speakin' French?" she asked, eyeing me as she climbed the school steps.

I tossed a look back at the tree, but Remy--the charming French-speaking mutant--was already gone. "I can speak three fluent languages," I told her. "French, Spanish and English. Though I can now curse in German, thanks to Kurt."

Rogue snorted and shook her head. "Yer fulla surprises, huh?"

I shrugged. "I have a lot of hidden talents," was my reply.

"So what exactly did ya talk to 'im about?" Rogue asked subtlety, watching me out of the corner of her eye. I grinned and elbowed her in the arm.

"Wouldn't you like to know!"

"Ah would, actually," she replied. Her color rose once more, but she was a very proud person so I didn't mock her--too badly.

I shrugged, but I was grinning happily. "Nothing too important. Just asked him for a smoke. Told him I saw that he was checking you out. He said it was because you're pretty. I laughed, introduced myself and told him not to check you out unless he wanted to deal with me, seeing how you oh-so-hate his very_ presence_. Then he just laughed, introduced himself, and said he _couldn't_ stop looking at you. Then I told him to quit smoking." I flipped my hand and shook my head. "You know, it was something like that."

Rogue blinked at me, absorbing the conversation. "He was checkin' me out?" she squeaked in alarm.

I laughed. "Oh Rogue, you're such a girl!"

"Ah resent that," was her reply. Then we went to our lockers and began a day of schooling.

I won't go into too much detail of school, since it was the first day and rather weird. I got a few books, filled out a few emergency cards, and mostly just sat around and talked with my fellow students--AKA Rogue. Though I did have lunch with the rest of the X-Men squad. I even dragged Rogue over to the table. She usually preferred to sit alone, but I won't let her be alone with me around.

I gave Rogue a ride home, which we detoured a little to stop at a 7-eleven. The Slurpies were on me. Then we went home and laid around a little bit, listening to some music. I even convinced Rogue to play a tune for me on her guitar. It was a domestic thing. A teenage thing. I was sitting around with my friend after a day at school.

I was enjoying the pretend life I had. Eating diner with my roommates, talking with the teachers. But then the night came and I was alone again as everyone retired for the new day. I found myself weary, so I went to my room for my two hours of sleep rather early.

That's when I had the dream.

I can't say exactly when I realized I was dreaming because one moment I was laying on my little bed and the next I was laying on some kind of a battle field.

I was laying on the cold, hard ground and couldn't get up. I could hear shouting around me, voices of people fighting. I heard the sound of lightning striking, of energy crackling, whining explosions. Still, I couldn't get up, I could barely even move enough to breathe. My eyes were unfocused and I could taste blood in the back of my throat. I could also smell it in the air, along with the tang of sweat and smoke.

A face swam above my eyes. A face framed in flaxen hair. A face with eyes as yellow as my own. He was older of course, more mature. We didn't look as alike as we used to, me looking more feminine and him growing more handsome. But I recognized him in my heart after an instant. Peter.

I choked on his name and he smiled, grabbing my hand and putting it to the side of his face. I head an echo of his voice. "Parker." I saw his smile, felt the warmth of his skin. I felt tears running from my eyes. Oh God, how I love him. How I miss him. But then I saw something glint behind his head and Peter went ridged.

I called his name as his eyes glazed over and looked forward. I screamed his name. His mouth opened, but only blood dripped out. I screamed again as he fell back.

I saw the hand hovering over him. A hand holding a bloody, jagged knife. Then another face swam into view, a vile face I had hoped to forget with time. DeVero, my hated foster father. My enemy. He smiled down at him, his darkly handsome features twisted in his sick pleasure as he leaned over me, the bloody knife in his grasp.

"No more," he whispered in my ear. Then I felt his hands on my head, shifting me to see. What I saw, I wish I never had. I saw the X-men, every one of them. They were all dead. Their bodies hanging lifeless on a wall like the dead of old, trophies to ward off others who might rebel. A warning and a promise. Ororo, Xavier, Logan...Kitty, Rogue...Kurt. All of them, bloody and broken and lifeless.

I sobbed, but then DeVero jerked my head back to face him. "No more!" he said again, then everything went black as the knife hovered over my chest.

I woke up in my bed in the Institute, clutching my chest as I sobbed into my pillow. It was a dream of prophecy, a dream to come. Figurative, but still true. If he found this place, found these people, found my brother, Andrew DeVero would kill them all. Only after everything I loved was gone would he come after me. And I knew this time, a simple beating would not be punishment enough.

Wobbling to my feet, and fled my little room and all the homeliness it held, wanting to distance myself from my bed and all thoughts of dreams. I was going to go to the library, but decided on the kitchen instead. I needed a drink of water to calm my heart. I walked into the dark room, got my glass, then took my water and sat at the counter.

I half expected what happened next, though I was wishing it wouldn't.

Kurt appeared in our usual place, rummaged in the fridge for his sandwich, then hopped on to the counter. Since it was dark, I didn't speak, hoping that if he thought I wasn't there then he'd leave. But he didn't. He just sat on the counter and began chewing. It wasn't until his tail accidentally bumped into me that he turned and saw I was there.

"I didn't think you were here!" he said in surprise at finding me in the darkness. My eyes always give me away.

"I didn't want you to know," I replied.

"Why not?" he asked, confusion in his voice.

"I'm not in the mood for conversation." I didn't want to explain. As much as I liked being around Kurt, he was still a boy and he would never understand. He seemed to take this as an answer, so he ate in silence. Finally, I broke, and asked him something that was rolling in my mind. "Do you think the Professor will find my brother?"

He jumped, obviously not ready for me to talk. Then he turned to me with a pensive expression. He didn't speak, for a moment. "I have faith in him, so ja, I think he'll find your brother," he said slowly, thoughtfully. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, then nodded. "Were you thinking about him?" Kurt asked me.

"Yeah," I said quietly. I thought about the dream, the knife and the blood and the look in Peter's blank yellow eyes. I shivered, never wanting to see such a thing again. "I've lost a lot of things over the years," I said, mostly to myself. "Peter was the only thing I ever thought I could get back."

"I would feel that way if I lost any of my family too," he said quietly. I assume he felt that it would comfort me, so he went on. "They took care of me, and not many people would considering the way I am. They--"

"Kurt," I said in a soft voice, interrupting him. I felt tears well in my eyes. "I don't...want to hear this."

"Oh," was all he said. I heard the tinge of hurt in his voice and my vision clouded. I had cried to much this night, but it seemed that I would have to do it one more time.

I winced, hating to do it, but needing to at the same time. "I don't want to know about your family or your life or anything about you," I said, getting up from my seat.

I forced my voice firm and toneless, like I had been trained to do. Like I had been made to do. "In a few weeks I'll be gone, and I will for the better chance of hell, never see you again. It would be better for me if I didn't get to know anyone here." I started to leave, then looked back at him. He was watching me with a veiled expression in his pale eyes. "It would probably be better for you if you never remembered you knew me."

* * *

...I hate myself for this. I start to care, but then I can't. I have to sever the ties.

My dream was right to remind me. I can't go on this way. I can't be that person. I can't have friends and go to school and be a normal girl--or even a normal mutant. I have to stop pretending.

Pretending too much will make me think it's real, and then it will hurt more when I leave.

I will leave, Mom. I have to leave.

You know, sometimes I want you and Peter to be with me more than anything else in the world, but then I dread it. I need you to hold me and feel your warmth and hear your voice telling me that everything will be alright. I know it's another lie, Mom, but sometimes I need that lie. Sometimes I just need you, Mom.

But I don't want either of you to see what I've become.

I'm dirty. I'm ugly. I've been twisted and bent and broken, Mom. I'm not your little Parker anymore. I'm not innocent or sweet or protective. I've killed. I've lied and stolen. Things have been done to me that I will never forget or heal from, no matter how long I live. Some scars go too deep to ever heal.

I was a monster, Mom, and it nearly ate my soul away. I don't want it to happen again.

If I even have a soul left to save.

For what my love is worth--Parker

* * *

A/N: Same as always, please Review!


	5. Entry 5

A/N: Yay, I'm picking up reviews as I go along. I'm very happy about that. I know that original character works don't get as many reviews, but I like to create my own characters of the X-men. Mostly because I love to dictate the interaction and reaction to a new person rather than just doing another fic with the same old characters. I love all the characters--though some I like more than others--but getting inside of their heads takes a lot of energy. Creating my own character allows me to play with them more. Anyway, enough with my rambling. I'll answer a few reviews, then get happily to chapter 5. Enjoy!

psycho88: I hope you like this chapter. More about Parker will be revealed slowly in the following chapters, so don't worry. Thanks a lot for the support!

Idypebsaby: You'll see what happens with her and Rogue in this chapter--but don't expect backlash between them for another few chapters. There is some more tidbits thrown in here about her past, but the entire story won't be revealed until a later chapter. Again I answer with a maybe as to her brother, suspense, you understand. More about her dreams next chapter! Thanks for the support!

Ashe Nightingale: I thank you very VERY much for your support. I'm really happy that I have a small fanbase for this story. It was bugging me for a while, and with Parker in your head, it's not easy to get work done. But this story, I love very much. I guess the reason why I think it's so good is because I care about it that much. I really hope you will enjoy the rest of it! And as for original works, I'm really happy that I have one backer--I hope to get published one of these days.

Red Jeanie: I'm very glad that you like my story. You'll see what happens to him in later chapters, but don't worry! It'll be a good and fitting end!

Agent-G: I mentioned before that I purposely used the names Peter, Parker, and Watson because I am a very large Spiderman fan, and I thought it would be funny. Thanks for reading the story though!

* * *

Seeking Solace

Chapter 5

* * *

Dear Mom:

Another week has passed and I haven't written to you, have I? Sure, a few miniscule chit-chat entries that I wrote to occupy myself at three in the morning or some random sketches that I drew. Rogue caught me drawing once--she likes my sketches.

I remember that you used to encourage my art. You said I had talent. I draw mostly because I have nothing else to do. I draw when I see something that I like. You know, I've made a kind of observation. I went into an art class at the high school, and I see that a lot of the students are focused on the perfection of their work. For me, it's the flaws that make things special. The flaws are what I love.

I'm digressing again, aren't I?

Yes, I'm sorry I haven't written to you in a while. I've been rather afraid to. I can't lie to you Mom. If I wanted to, I could walk right up to anyone in this Institute and lie to them all so convincingly that they'd believe me in an instant, but as you know, I hate to lie. DeVero told me once that I was a gifted liar and that was probably why I hated doing it so much. But as gifted as I am, you could always tell when I was being honest or not. You could feel that I was unhappy when I lied, and even without your power, you could just tell. Maybe it's not a mutant thing--maybe it's just a mother thing.

I've been scared to write to you because I have to tell you the truth, the truth about everything that has happened this week. Some of it was actually kind of funny, actually pretty fun, and other parts of it make my chest ache.

I'm a selfish person, Mom. You'd tell me to hush up if you were here, but the truth is the truth and I'm a selfish girl. I'm selfish because as much as I want to do what's best, I can't seem to push Rogue away. After what I did to Kurt, I'm scared and selfish and I can't bare to part with my only friend in this world.

Even if it will hurt us both a greater deal when I leave, I need her. If I didn't have her, Mom, if I didn't have one person, I know I would go crazy. All the guilt and all the fear and all the worry weighs me down and it's only when I'm around Rogue that it lifts enough that I can breathe.

It was like that when I was with Kurt too.

It hurts, Mom, much more than I wanted it to. I hate myself for what I did to him, for how I hurt him. But what else could I do? If I let him in, then it would only hurt worse. And I don't want to hurt him--my whole purpose for doing all this in the first place.

I only knew him for two weeks, and it hurts this bad. I can't really count this week, considering I haven't spoken to him since that night. He hasn't spoken to me either. I guess that he never told anyone about our midnight snack rendezvous. I never did either, not that I was hiding anything, but that I liked to keep that little part of him to myself. He was...a companionable person, one that you just couldn't help laughing at and with. Despite the fact that he's a boy, despite the fact that he's a mutant, despite every fault in his person, I was just so...enchanted by him.

I've never been in love. I doubt I ever will be either, considering my unease with the opposite sex. I don't remember ever being attracted to anyone either--this doesn't include pretty boy actors and musicians, I am only human after all. What I mean is, I've never genuinely wanted to be around a boy before--in a non-sister way. I was always surrounded by men, but I never cared for any of them. I don't know how or when or why, but after I left the kitchen that night, after telling Kurt to forget me, I understood the reason why I went to the kitchen every night.

I genuinely wanted to be around him. I wanted to hear the sound of his voice and see his pale eyes and listen to the sound of his tail hitting the counter. Maybe I liked him--but I only knew him for two weeks, so how could I really like him? We never really talked during the day, except for when the group was together in the Danger room or at the table or something. I never liked anyone before, so I can't know if the feeling in the pit of my stomach was because of guilt, or because of affection. I would talk to Rogue, but denial is her bedfellow.

I figure this much, Mom. I'll help Rogue before I go. Even if I did somehow manage to end up liking Kurt, I'll be gone in three weeks. Once I'm gone, I can put him in a safe little memory place where I can treasure him for years to come, and not worry about running into him when I'm going down the hall toward the stairs. I won't have to worry about awkward pauses when he arrives in the kitchen and I'm still there. I'll be gone and it won't matter anymore. But I will help Rogue, because I want her to be happy when I'm gone.

She has given me so much happiness in my stay by giving me her friendship, the least I can do it return some of it. I go out of my way to make her laugh, but maybe I can do something more. Maybe something that involves a very attractive mutant who has the habit of loitering on school grounds.

You're asked what I have in mind? You're asking what I mean by what I'm saying? Oh, Mom, I'll have to go back and start from the beginning! Well, if you insist...

* * *

I wouldn't let it get to me, the fact that I felt like scum. I just went on like normal, like nothing happened the night before, like I hadn't just hurt someone, and myself in the process.

Instead of giving in to the urge to dissolve into a puddle in a corner if my room, I hid myself in the library and read until breakfast. After that, I changed, and went downstairs. Upon entering the kitchen, my eyes couldn't help but be attracted to a certain blue individual. Kurt was sitting at the table, laughing with Evan about something or other. When he looked up and saw me, he just looked away and went back to his conversation.

I can't begin to explain how much that hurt me. And not in that 'I just got dumped' kind of way. More like that 'I expected you to be a better person than me' kind of way. I guess I shouldn't complain.

Rogue joined me a few minutes later, looking kind of worried at me. I guess I looked a little sadder than usual, but I shook it off enough to smile at her.

"I'm not really hungry this morning," I said to her. "Want to get to school early?"

"Why would Ah wanna go ta school early?" she asked me, a hand on her hip. Rogue was done up as usual, her Goth gear perfectly in place, but she looked different for some reason that morning. It took me a moment to realize that she had gone _natural_ that day. There was no makeup to be found on her face, and frankly, she'd never looked prettier.

"What's with the lack of enhancement?" I asked her as we walked out toward my bike.

"Ah ran outta my lipstick," she commented. "Gotta stop by the store on the way home. You mind?"

"Not at all," I said, but then flashed her a smile. "I think you look better without it anyway."

"Lookin' good isn't my numba one priority," she told me, pulling my helmet over her head as I started up the bike. "It's to keep people from lookin' at me."

"So you wear makeup that's supposed to make your prettier to make you less noticeable?" I asked, looking over my shoulder. This reasoning made no sense to me, but hey, she was Rogue. A figment of mystery. An enigma. And that was just fine with her.

"When ya look the same everyday," she enlightened me. "No one gives ya a second look."

"Well, you'll be turning heads today," I laughed and we were off like a shot. I heard Rogue grumble something, but the wind caught it before I could. Still, I laughed as if I'd heard her.

It was Friday after all, so I was allowed to be in a good mood--even if the school day was still to come. It meant nearly-weekend, the time of the week that was the epitome of freedom in all teen-dom, so I had been informed. For me, any day of the week was really the same. Some had more rules, some had less, but the sun still rose and set on all of them.

When we got to school, I parked in the same space I had been using since the first day, and we padded off toward classes, backpacks in hand. Though, I did happily notice that a certain Tree-boy was once more at his place, leaning against the large leafy tree near the entrance path, smoking on his cigarettes. I looked toward Rogue with a smile.

She glared at me. "What are ya lookin' at me for?" she grumbled.

"Why don't you talk to him?" I asked. "He's always waiting there when we get here. What's a little polite conversation?"

"There ain't nothing polite about 'im," she said firmly. Rogue held her chin high as she walked by, utterly ignoring his presence. I, on the other hand, waved to him with a smile. He grinned and gave me a kind of mock salute with the hand still holding his lit cigarette.

"I think he's perfectly charming," I informed her.

Rogue sighed. "Oh, ya poor girl! Ya've fallen under the Cajun spell."

I grinned and laughed. "Well," I said with a hand to my heart, mocking her accent again. "If lovin' 'im is wrong, Ah don't wanna be right!"

Rogue shoved me toward the stairs with her gloved hands. "Don't go 'Gone with the Wind' on me!"

"With God as my witness!" I laughed. Rogue only rolled her eyes, then laughed with me.

Classes were classes. I always do my homework--not out of a desire to be a 'good girl'--only because I have so much free time, there really is nothing else for me to do. I've been getting fairly decent grades too, which gives me a happy in the best way. The only trouble came at lunch.

Everyone was at the table, including the one person I did not want to see at that moment. He was sitting in the center of the bench, the life of the conversation, as always. Luckily, I was able to slink away before anyone saw me. I just hung by the door out into the quad and when Rogue appeared, I grabbed her arm.

"Let's eat lunch away from the crowd today," I told her.

"Why?" she asked, giving me and appraising stare.

"I don't feel like being around everyone right now," I said with a shrug. She accepted that as an answer, so she led me toward her favorite spot on the grounds. On the far side of the lunch quad, there was a rise along the wall, a ledge about eight feet high. Together, Rogue and I perched on the edge and ate our lunches away from the others.

"Nice view, eh?" she asked me with a smile.

"Very nice," I nodded. "You can see everyone from up here."

"Ah know." Rogue looked around to make sure no one could hear us--which of course no one could since we were the only one's on the wall, and those on the ground we're giving us a second look. "Ah like to come up here and just watch the others."

"Why not be part of them?" I countered.

"You'd be surprised what ya can find out when yer bein' ignored," she told me, a mirror of my own feelings.

I grinned at her, then looked at all the other students in the quad. "So tell me Rogue," I said in my most formal of voices. "What do you know about who?"

"Well," she said in a business-like tone. "Ya see that table, over yonder?" I looked to wear she was pointing. "That's the Brotherhood table."

"Those are the guys Scott's always yammering about?!" Call me crazy, but I found it hard to believe that such a group of misfits could make the calm/collected Scott so...flustered. Yes! Flustered! Like a chicken with his head cut off!

"Uh-huh," she confirmed. "Ah used to be one of 'em too."

I looked over at her. Rogue looked back, something sparkling in her green eyes. "You were?" I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "You...were an enemy?"

Rogue nodded slowly. "Ah was confused and Ah had no place else ta go. Then I decided that Ah didn't want to be that way, so here Ah am. Better off, if not a little more straight-laced."

I nodded, suddenly thoughtful. Could that be why Rogue and I clicked so well? Because she was a bad guy once too? Is that the reason why I feel comfortable with her? A lot of doubts and fears rose in me, and I had to work very hard to push them down. So as not to make Rogue suspicious, I kept my eyes trained on the Brotherhood table.

Sitting on the table itself was a small boy with blondish hair and pale skin that looked...almost green-tinged. He looked like he was deeply in conversation with a behemoth sized boy who took up an entire bench by himself. Across from him sat a girl with crazy blonde hair and a loud laugh. Next to her was a tall-ish guy with medium brown hair and a less-than-amused expression. He was also tossing a few glances toward the X-Men table when not talking to the blonde girl.

"Ok, so who is who?" I asked Rogue. "Scott rambles on about 'Toad' this and 'Avalanche' that, but I've never seen them."

Rogue chuckled slightly. "Scott has the tendency ta...overreact. The one on the table, that's Todd. He likes ta call himself 'Toad' cuz of his frog-ness, or somethin'. He's got a super-long tongue and a tendency ta eat...weird stuff."

I cocked my head to one side, hand straying to my side bag. I found the zipper, and hanging on the zipper was my rabbit's foot. Not lucky, jut a regular rabbits foot that I rubbed now because I was suddenly both intrigued and nervous. Learning too much, getting too close...Have to add some distance, not wanting to.

"The big fella on the bench, that's Fred, otherwise known as Blob." She paused, looking over at me. "Don't make me explain about 'is powers, ok?"

I grinned. "I have a pretty good imagination, just continue."

"Well, that girl there, that's Tabby. She calls herself Boom-Boom, cuz she makes these little balls that explode 'n stuff. She used ta be an X-Man, but she got a little tweaked ova the rules." I nodded, getting a better look at Tabby. She looked normal enough, or at the very least, approachable. "The last one at the table, that's Lance "the Avalanche" Alvers. Kitty's beau."

I whipped around to look at her, seeing if she was joking or not, but her face was serious, albeit a bit amused. "That's Kitty's _boyfriend_?!"

"Well, unofficially," Rogue laughed. "Ah'm her roommate after all, so Ah hear her phone calls."

"Bad Rogue, very bad," I laughed. Then I took another look at Lance. I smiled. He was a cute guy, once you gave him a closer look. "Who would have thought that Kitty would like the 'bad-boy' type. Here I always thought she was more of a...Scott-type, I guess."

"Yer not a matchmaker then," Rogue informed me. "Ya thought Ah liked that Cajun...nightmare!"

"That's because you do," I said easily. "And I never said I was a matchmaker, I just make subtle observations." Rogue by that time had gotten red in the face, but whether is was because of anger or embarrassment, I couldn't tell. "But I guess I should tell you the easiest thing I can stop!"

"What's that?" she asked with more attitude than I expected.

Still, I smiled sweetly. "I can spot a virgin a mile away," I laughed.

Rogue just blinked at me a long moment before cracking a smile. Then she out and out laughed and I joined her. "Yer crazy!" she informed me.

"It's true!" I argued. "How can you doubt my skills?" I gave her a puppy face and she laughed.

"Ok," she said with a grin. "If yer so good at findin' virgins, whicha the X-Men are?"

I took a deep breath and studied the X-Men lunch table closely. Of course, this was all assumption and observation, but I was confident in my abilities. Jean got up from the table to throw out her tray, and I used her as an example. "Okay, take Jean," I said to Rogue with a serious tone. "She is a Grade-A virgin if I've ever seen one. Smart, athletic, strong...she's one of those, got it-flaunt it with class, kinda girls. Basically, she won't settle until she's in love. And I doubt that jock she's dating...Duncan or other, is the real-deal."

Rogue nodded, apparently pleased with my dictation. "What about the others?" she asked, smiling again.

Kitty got up, so I jumped at her as an example. "Ah, Kitty. There is no doubt to me that she's a virgin, even if she does has an 'unofficial' bad-boy boyfriend. She's a Girl, so that means no admittance below the waist until after they're down the aisle."

"Ya really think so?"

I shrugged. "It might change when she's older. But she's only what? Sixteen?"

Rogue smiled wanly. "Her sweet sixteen was two weeks before you came. Oh, she was incorrigible!"

I laughed. "Ok, a challenge now? Give me a person!"

Rogue looked at the table thoughtfully. "Scott," she declared.

"I said a challenge!" I complained laughingly. "Scott is a total virgin. Not only is he a total 'love-sucker', he's also subconsciously in love with Jean. Therefore, whenever the pair of them get around to announcing their fuzzier-then-thou feelings, then the unicorns might be lost."

"Unicorn?" Rogue asked, confused.

I grinned and blushed a little. "Well, you know how in all those fantasy stories, unicorns can only be caught by a virgin? Well, without virginity, the unicorns are lost. Therefore, you lose your unicorn."

Rogue looked at me strangely, then laughed with me. "What about the others?" she giggled.

"Well, no way the younger kids have been deflowered," I commented. "I doubt Evan has ever had a girlfriend."

"And Kurt?" Rogue asked, holding a hand up to her mouth to keep from snorting. My smiled faded somewhat as I looked down at said boy. He had his holographic image up to cover up the fact that he was blue and fuzzy with three fingers on each hand and a tail. It was kind of a double-edged sword if you think about it. He had to hide who he was whenever he was in public because there were so many people in the world that would reject him for what he is.

It's funny how the hologram made him look. The first time I saw him wearing it, I stopped to stare because I didn't recognize him. When he spoke, I knew, but for a minute there, I wasn't sure. He looks so much the same but totally different at the same time. Thinking about it made me sad.

"He's a virgin," I said slowly. "I doubt he's found someone he'd want to share something like that with."

"And what about me?" Rogue asked, sensing my sudden discomfort. We both knew the answer because of her condition, but it was just for fun. And so, for fun, I thought long and hard.

"I would have to say virgin," I told her. "And not because of the no-touching thing. Because you're too strong and confident a person. You care to much about yourself and your dignity to give it away on a whim."

Rogue nodded, smiling somewhat ironically. "Sometimes, dignity is all Ah had ta go on." We were silent for a minute, then she looked up at me. "And what about yer unicorn?"

I opened my mouth, ready to give her a fitting retort, but it died on my tongue. I had nothing to be proud of. So I just smiled slightly, almost painfully. "I'm not a virgin," I told her.

"Oh," she said, tugging on the edge of one of her gloves. "You have a boyfriend back home or somethin'?"

"No," I said. "I don't have a boyfriend, or a home." I stretched, arching my back and looking away from her. "I've never been in love either."  
"Well, look at it this way," she said, attempting to lighten the mood. "At least one of the X-Men are worldly."

I nodded, catching her drift and changed the subject slightly with a smiled. "Now, I would guess that some of the Brotherhood have been ruined for the rest of society."

Rogue gasped in mock surprise. "No!" she said dramatically.

"Yes!" I replied, equally so. "Lance has lost his unicorn. My guess would be Tabby too. I doubt either of the others have."

"Oh!" Rogue suddenly said. "Ah almost forgot Pietro!"

"Who?"

"The fifth member of the Brotherhood," she explained, scanning the crowd until she saw someone familiar. Then she pointed. "Him, in between those four girls!"

I looked down to see a middle-tall boy, thin and pretty, with a head of white hair and a killer smile that seemed to dazzle the girls around him. Obviously he came from money. "That's Pietro of the Brotherhood?"

"Quicksilver," Rogue filled in.

I just looked over at her with a blank expression. "With a name like that, no wonder he needs so many girls!" We were both silent for a while, then we burst into hysterical laughter. That's when the lunch bell rang and we had to head off to classes.

Rogue told me to wait for her by my bike since she had to stay after for a few minutes, to talk to a teacher about switching a class. I promised to wait, and as I did, I sketches in my notebook. For as long as I can remember, I've drawn on the back of paper with nothing else to do. I love to draw people especially, and I had already drawn some of the X-Men on previous pages.

Rogue, in all her Gothic glory graced my first sketch page, starring in a scene where she was applying her lipstick in front of the bathroom mirror. Kitty was on the second page, standing in front of her open closet doors, rooting through to find her 'lucky' pink top. I had Bobby of the third page, holding the garden hose behind his back as he walked toward Scott's car. The car's owner was picture number four, in his Danger room gear, from when I watched him run a course solo.

This fifth picture I had put off drawing, but I didn't want to anymore. This was a picture of Kurt, perched on the kitchen counter, with is evening sandwich. I took my time while drawing this one, wanting to get all the lines perfect, especially his tail, which is one of his strongest features. I ran a finger along his outlined figure, smudging the pencil lines and adding some shadows, lights and darks.

"C'est tres bon," a voice said from behind me. I turned to see Remy standing a few paces to my left. There was a light smile on his face, and he pointed toward my drawing. He seemed to like my work, saying that it was good and that I had talent. "Vous avez beaucoup de talent."

"Merci ver beaucoup," I thanked him. Then I reverted to English. "I'm surprised to see you away from your tree."

His smile widened. "When I see a fille alone, I can't fight the gentleman in me," he said, in that oh-so-suave way.

I couldn't help but grin back at him. "Well, so you don't have to worry, I'm just waiting for my friend."

"Oh?" was his answer, raising one arched brow in a casual way. I could almost hear his inner monologue asking the question. I couldn't fight it, or maybe I just didn't want to.

"Yeah, the friend you were gawking at," I said with a smile. "She should be here any minute, so I'd advise you to disappear before she comes."

"Why would I ever do a ting like that?" I couldn't help it, I blushed. I could see why Rogue said I was under his spell, but the man was just...infectious. Good thing was that he wasn't looking at me in any kind of lustful way. Maybe his comments were on the flirtatious side, but I could tell he wasn't attracted to me. That was peachy keen with me. Especially since my inner alarm was going off with him being as close as he was when we were in an empty parking lot.

Then I heard a huff. Swinging around, I saw Rogue coming toward us. Her usual gait, full of confidence and I-do-what-I-want attitude was suddenly a very angry stomp. She was shooting daggers at me, but I held up my hands innocently. "He came to me!" I whined before she could harm me in any way. "I did nothing to encourage it!"

Quickly I closed my notebook and jammed it into my side bag as Rogue joined us. She took one look at Remy standing nearby, then simply jammed on my helmet and straddled the bike behind me. Though, she didn't do it fast enough where I wouldn't see her blush. "Let's go," was all she said.

"I'm hurt that you don't say goodbye, chere," he said with a grin, bringing and unlit cigarette to his lips. He wasn't hurt in the least. In fact, it seemed like he was...flattered.

"I thought I told you those were bad," I reminded him about the cigarette. "I don't think a girl would appreciate tasting cigarette on you."

"Parker," Rogue called. "Can we go yet? Ah still have ta get to the store."

He grinned. I smiled, pulling my helmet over my head and hopping on to my bike. "I take it you'll be under the tree on Monday morning?" I asked Remy. He made no move to lit his cigarette now.

"Never know," he said in a casual, husky tone. "Maybe we'll meet before then."

Rogue huffed again behind me and I took that as a sign to go. So that was precisely what I did. I waved at the Tree-boy, then backed out of the parking spot. In a second we were off like a shot, weaving down the road toward a Bayville convenient store. We stopped twice, so Rogue could restock her supplies and so I could grab some grub. Then we found ourselves driving idly.

"Where should we go?" I asked Rogue.

"Take the next left," she told me. "I'll take ya someplace nice."

"Oh, my first date!" I joked.

"Hush up!" she laughed. I took the left and we ended up in what looked like a state park. "This is a preserve," Rogue told me as we drove slowly down the road. "Some endangered bird lives here, but it's empty a lot. Very quiet."

I turned down a shady lane and spied something fun. "Oh, look! A playground!"

Rogue only laughed. "Park," she said. "We can play."

I parked on the side of the road and the two of us took off toward the small playground. There was a dome-shaped jungle gym that Rogue climbed up to sit on the top. I scrambled up to the top of the slide and went down with a yell. I hadn't been on a playground in many years, and it was fun to be there with my best friend. After a while of tag and aimless playing, we ended up on the swings. Four rusty swings that looked about as steady as a house of cards, but held us both going high enough to launch over the bar.

"You come to the playground a lot?" I asked her as I pumped.

"No," she admitted. "There's a big hill in the back, in this clearin'. Ah come here at night sometimes, ta look at the stars."

"Maybe you'll take me one night," I said quietly.

"Sure," she smiled. I smiled back. "So tell me somethin'."

"What?"

"What were you doin' talkin' to the Cajun again?"

I laughed. "Remy came over to me while I was waiting alone," I told her while sticking out my tongue. "He only wanted to know where you were anyway. There's no need to get jealous."

"Ah am _not_ jealous!" she fumed. "We've been through this, Ah don't like 'im!"

"You can say it until your face turns blue," I told her cheerfully. "It won't change the way you look at him, or the way he looks at you."

That made her quiet for a minute. Her reply was tentative at best. "He really looks at me a lot, doesn't he?"

"Yes," I agreed. "And I think he's a nice guy. And I know he's a bad guy," I said, cutting her off before she could object. "But like I told you. Good people can be driven to bad things."

"Ah know," was all she said.

Then we got off the swings and headed home. We had homework to do and a Danger room exercise to get to. Scott would bite our heads off if we were late. I smiled a little at the thought. It was fun to get Scott riled up because as much as he hated to admit it, I was good.

At least it was the weekend.

* * *

After dinner, a bunch of the X-Men were going out to the Bayville mall to see a movie and hang out for a while. Kitty invited me a long. I, in turn, invited Rogue. She agreed--though she voiced her distaste for a majority of the mall.

Instead of taking my motorcycle, the two of us hitched a ride with Scott and Kitty. Jean couldn't go with us because she had a date with her jock boyfriend, Duncan. I was only introduced to the guy once, but I didn't like him. Not in a guy way, in a this-idiot-is-dating-the-smart-chick way. It's just as well.

On the ride there, Rogue and I were fighting with Kitty and Scott over what radio station to have on. K-Rock verse Z-100. In the end Scott just turned it off and we argued about what movie to see. In the end, we all decided on the new Jet Li movie.

Rahne, Jubilee, Bobby, Ray, Roberto, and Evan all went to the mall too, though they found their own rides and went to a different movie. I was thankful Kurt didn't come, but then I was guilty because he might have not come because I was there. It put a little damper on my time that was lifted as soon as the four of us went into the movie theatre.

The movie was great, and Scott and I were deep in debate over who had the best moves when we began walking through the mall itself. A few people even looked at us weird for our raised voices of kung-fu styles.

"Uh, guys?" Kitty finally spoke up. Like, maybe we should just go into a store or something?"

"Sure," I said casually. "Which store?"

"That one!" Kitty cheered, pointing to--as expected--as preppy store. Scott, to my immense surprise, wandered in after her to take a look at some sweater vest or another. Rogue and I sat on a bench outside as we waited.

"Ah can't believe Ah used to like 'im," Rogue muttered to herself, looking over at Scott.

"Are you serious?" I laughed. "You held a torch for Summers?"

Rogue blushed. "Back when Ah first came here," she defended. "But Ah don't anymore!"

"True," I nodded. "Now you hold a torch for that adorable Cajun boy!"

"Ah am _not_!" Rogue steamed once more. Ah, denial is a horrible thing--though the sadistic side of me knows that it's funny as hell to see. Rogue thinks she's a big mystery, but once you spend enough time around her, despite all the pains she undertakes to keep her feelings hidden, they're all right there in her big green eyes. That's why I can read her like a book.

"Oh, not even a little bit?" I badgered.

"No!"

"Yes you do."

No, Ah don't!"

"You so_ totally _do!"

"Parker, Ah'm tellin' ya no!" I have to admit that I love how she said my name. It was like "Paw-ka" with that southern drawl, and I always smiled. My mother had the same accent. She had been born and raised in Mississippi, though Peter and I were raised in the Midwest. Selene was a linguist and a scholar, which is where I picked up my love of dialects and accents.

"Fine, lie to yourself," I said, waving a finger at her. "But when you come face to face with your feelings, girly, don't come cryin' to me!"

Rogue only huffed, until I hugged her loosely around her shoulders and grinned. "Come on, let's go after Kitty and Scott. They may require saving from mutant sweaters!"

Rogue smiled; I was already forgiven. Together we went in search of our two missing friends. Kitty was in the petite section, checking the prices on some ponchos. When she saw us, she grinned. "Rogue, Parker, don't you just _love_ the ponchos? Especially this pink one! It's, like, so totally me!"

"Yes," Rogue and I both agreed. Then Rogue grinned. "Kitty?"

"Yeah?" she responded, barely looking away from the price tags.

"Are ya gonna be here a while?"

"Probably, why?"

"Ah think I'll take Parker over to Hot Topic. Find us there when ya wanna go."

"Ok," Kitty said with a wave of her hand. Rogue grabbed my wrist and steered me toward Scott, who was in the Men's section, browsing the cargo pants. I had to resist my urge to snicker.

"I doubt you'll run better drills in Capri pants, Scott," I said when we got to his side.

He eyed me behind red sunglasses. "What are you two up to?" he asked.

"Ah, shucks," I said to Rogue. "He saw right through us!"

"Well, he _is_ a Cyclops," Rogue smiled.

Scott only frowned. "Rogue's kidnapping me off to a store," I told him. "Hot something or other. Kitty knows. We'll meet you there when you guys are ready to book!"

With that, Rogue dragged me off and I waved to Scott. "Don't waist all your money Rogue!" he called after us.

"Ah won't if ya promise not ta buy those pants!" she retorted. We were out of earshot before he could retort.

"Nice one Rogue!" I said, impressed.

"Thanks," she grinned. "Come on, Ah'll take ya to my store!"

The store she took me to was a Goth girl's dream come to life. The store was full of punkish, gothic delights. Plus there was a lot of band logo/movie themed shirts. Rogue went off to examine a new batch of black clothes while I wandered toward the band shirts hanging on the wall.

A salesgirl bumped into me when I got there, sending me staggering a step back into a another person. Luckily, this person caught and steadied me before I landed head-first into a discount bin. Looking up to my accident victim, I did a double take. Low and behold stood Kitty's almost-boyfriend, Lance.

Close up, he didn't look threatening at all. Maybe a little punkish, and maybe a little aggressive, but my guess would that it was a front to keep trouble away. He looked at me with brown eyes like he didn't want to be concerned, but was anyway. "Are you ok?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, straightening now that I had my balance back. "Thanks," I said with a smile.

He shrugged. "Sure."

Lance turned to go, but I baited him into conversation. "W-which band were you l-looking at?" I stuttered out.

He turned, looking casually at me, then to the wall. "I like _Story of the Year_," he said idly.

I've heard their music and I like them. "I was admiring the _Yellowcard _shirt," I admitted. "That or _Finch_. I love _Finch _with a passion."

"You like _Finch_?" he asked, looking both surprised and delighted. "I am a huge fan of them."

I grinned. "I've seen you at school, haven't I?" I asked, seeing if he would take the bait.

"Probably. I'm Lance." He even went the extra mile to introduce himself! I was totally impressed.

"Parker," I said, holding out a hand. He took it and we shook a greeting. That's when Rogue wandered over to me.

"Parker! Ya gotta see what Ah... Hi, Lance," she said a little startled. "Ah didn't know ya shopped here."

Lance looked at Rogue, then back to me. "I, ah...only buy a band shirt now and then."

"Hey Rogue," I said, looking to my friend. "Turns out Lance here is a _Finch _fan!"

"Really?" Rogue looked at him in a new light. "Ah never knew that about ya!"

Lance blushed dully. "You never asked."

For the next half hour, the three of us were in a heated conversation regarding the ups and downs of punk rock music. It turns out that Lance has a lot of closet knowledge that he was more than willing to share with us, minus a little attitude to keep up appearances. Neither Rogue nor myself minded. I began to wonder why any of the X-Men would really fight with a guy like Lance, a music lover. But it just brought back to mind my old saying. Good people can do bad things, but it doesn't mean they're bad.

My mother always used to say that it's the choices we make that makes us who we are. I believe that with my whole heart, to this very day. The real point is not to let the choices define us.

Just when the three of us got on to the discussion of classic rock influences, a loud voice rang out through the store. "LANCE!"

Said boy winced and turned. "Yes Tabitha?" he said sarcastically, seeing the blonde a few feet behind him.

"Come on!" she said with a grin. "We're gonna hit somewhere else. The mall is totally dragging on my self image."

"I'm so sorry for that Tabby," he responded less-than-willing.

"I'm doing you a favor!" Tabby commented. "I could just take your jeep and leave you here, but I thought I'd be nice and give you a ride."

"It's _my_ car!" Lance reminded her. Tabby only shrugged and looked around him at us.

"Rogue...and some other girl!"

I waved. "I'm Parker!" I introduced myself. "And you're Tabby!"

"That I am!" she grinned. "Nice to meet you! Come on Lance!"

Lance sighed and looked toward us. "Catch ya later," he said lightly. Rogue and I smiled and waved as he was dragged out of the store.

"Are you sure he's Kitty's boy-toy? Tabby's got him on a short leash if you ask me." Rogue giggled.

"Who's Kitty's boy-toy?" Kitty intoned, walking in with a shopping bag in each hand and a sour look on her face.

"Lance Alvers!" I said happily. "We just had a nice talk with him."

Scott frowned as he entered. "You shouldn't associate with the Brotherhood," he said seriously. "They're not the kind of crowd you want your name linked to."

"Oh, lighten up Scott!" I said with a frown of my own. "We were just talking about music."

There was a round of indignant silence until Rogue suggested we go home. So we all did.

Kitty called all the girls into her room so she could show us the new additions to her wardrobe. Rogue--who bought a new pair of black gloves and a new black jacket since I was kind of hording her other one--also showed off her purchases, only with less finesse. I flaunted my _Finch _fangirl shirt, much to the amusement of my housemates. Then we all retired to our rooms.

The rest of the weekend was slow. I hung out with Rogue, practiced in the Danger room, and hung around with some of the others. When the week started up again, I went to school and hung out with Rogue some more. I knew I shouldn't get so close to her, but I couldn't help myself. I was becoming dependant.

During the week, I avoided Kurt and he avoided me. It was depressing and painful, but my life usually passed along those lines anyway. I did my homework, I went to my Cerebro sessions with the Professor, where he'd also ask me about how I was liking it here at the Institute.

I finally began to understand why Ororo bought me all those supplies, why Logan left me that offer to use his bike again. They don't expect me to leave. I think I should be flattered, but somehow it also makes me angry. It's like all the pain that it'll cause me, that I've been wallowing in, means nothing because they don't believe I'm strong enough to leave.

When the middle of the week came around again, I hid away in the library and finally got up the courage to write to my mother. I had to get some things off of my chest. I had to cry to her because I had no one else to cry to. And I also stared at the drawing I did of Kurt. It made me cry more.

* * *

_...God, I feel so weak._

I've been through so much more than this, Mom. Endured so much more physical pain. But still, it's the emotional pain that hurts the most. It makes me cringe. Makes me cry. Makes me doubt myself and everything I'm doing. I want to scream. I want to fight. I want to run.

I'll be doing everything I've always hated to do because, truthfully Mom, I am weak.

I'm not strong enough to sever my connections. Not strong enough to pick up and move on. I had other dreams this week. Dreams of death and bloodshed and DeVero. Dreams of all the things done to me, and all the things I've done. Reminders of the blood on my hands and the sins on my soul.

I will leave, Mom.

I have three weeks. Three short, long weeks until I have_ to leave this place and these people. It's for the best. It's to protect them. It's not because I want to. It's not because I'm scared of anything they could do. I am scared of what could be done to them, because of me. I can't have their lives on my conscience. Not more lives._

Lives like you, Mom.

I could the days, hating and loving the time when I can be free of this place and the feelings long dormant that it stirs inside me. I want to get away from feeling so much and go back to feeling nothing. Nothing but that tiny hope that I will finally find my brother.

I will not give up that hope. I will not give up on Peter, or you.

All my love--Parker

* * *

A/N: As usual, please review!


	6. Entry 6

A/N: Okay, here's chapter 6! I've been working like a fiend on this story--though I'm sorry to say that this will probably be the pace I will be reduced to with updating. I've been working 5 days a week and I started school again (senior, baby!) so most of my time is lost! So enjoy this chapter while I get it out!

* * *

Seeking Solace

Chapter 6

* * *

Dear Mom,

I wish that I could tell you that you had a daughter to be proud of.

I wish I could tell you that it wasn't a mistake taking me into your home and into your family.

I wish, more than anything, that I could tell you that I have honored your memory enough to take the proper steps to ensure that what I did to you would never be done to anyone else.

But I can't. I can't tell you any of it because none of it's true. I am not a daughter to be proud of. It was a mistake for you to take care of me, considering that I brought you nothing but pain and anguish and misfortune. I can't even tell you that I've kept people at a distance so they wouldn't be sucked into my painful black hole existence. None of it is true.

Maybe I'm not strong enough, or not smart enough. Maybe it's some kind of flaw in my character. Or, it could be another scar, like the ones all over my body. Just another reminder of Hell and the Devil.

God, Mom! What would I give to make this all go away, for everything to go back to the way it used to be. I just...I don't know. It makes me feel ten inches tall and like I'm towering over everyone at the same time.

When I look at the people here, I know that none of them have any clue. They all look at me so openly and honestly. Yes, they are mistrustful of some people, but that's the hazard of being a mutant. Jubilee told me once about how she lived in a mall for a while--she's an orphan too. But she was never forced to do anything, or have anything done to her. She was just...alone.

Or should I talk about Scott? His parents were killed too, though he still has a little brother whom he loves a great deal out in Hawaii or something. Little Jamie has a single mother whom he adores. Then there's Rogue, who was raised by a foster mother like I was, though her fake mother was more fake and less mother.

Which brings me to Kurt. Abandoned and taken in by a family or norms who raised him and loved him despite his differences, and helped him become the person he is. I wonder if one day, if only in my dreams, I would ever get the chance to thank them for it, for making him into such a wonderful person.

But, oh God, Mom! This is just too hard! It's just too wrong. Everything is getting so out of control and so...so...

I don't even know anymore. It's going to be the death of me. It's going to drive me insane one of these days. All this running, all this hiding. I can't tell the people I care about anything that might endanger them. I can't tell them what happened to me. I have to hide and it's ripping me apart. I just want to have them see me and look at me the same way, even knowing the truth. But I know that they won't. They can't.

I am a plague upon their house, and it will all come crashing down if I don't leave. So I still keep that infernal pledge to one day leave this place and never darken their doorways again. No matter the pain I leave in my wake. I will hurt them, I know it will hurt them.

But I can tell no one when I leave. They might try to stop me and I know now that if they did, I wouldn't have the strength to say no. And that, Mom, would be the worst sin I could ever commit in my life.

So I will continue trying to make you proud. I will keep pressing forward, despite the lapses in my resolve. Despite my selfishness. Despite the truth that dwells in my heart, and the anger and hurt and pain in causes me. I will keep looking for my brother, I will endure this torment of a happy life for as long as I can, to the very day if I have to!

And then I will leave like a shadow in the night.

Running away is the only thing I'm good at... Did you know I said that to him? Granted it's true and all, but the only person I have ever actually said that to before is you, Mom. But when I cracked, and it all poured from me like water, I told him my greatest secret. Running away is the only thing I'm good at.

Let me start from the beginning, or else you might end up getting lost...

* * *

Friday night. It's supposed to be one of those fun-fun nights where teens go out with their friends or significant others. I guess normal kids do that every Friday, or close to it anyway, but not this Friday. And not us.

This Friday was a night to stay in. If the pounding rain outside, along with the chorus of thunder and lightning, wasn't enough, then a very angry Wolverine was. It turns out, some genius tried to hack into the Danger room mainframe to alter one of the simulations. It was weakening a program for the second team, so they could get through it faster but looks as though they used the same effort. Wolverine found the glitch in the computer, but not the culprit.

So the entire household was grounded until the guilty party came forward.

I wasn't really upset over it, considering I had no where to be, no one to be with, or any money to spend. After dinner, the X-Men kind of floated in all their usual directions, scattering to the four winds.

Like usual, I hung with Rogue. We hijacked the television from Jamie--though we ended up watching cartoons anyway. I suppose this is what it's like to be a normal teenager. You get grounded. You sit around watching television when you should be doing your homework. It was some kind of unwritten code.

I think it was around eight o'clock, still early in the evening, when Rogue mentioned to me that see saw a lot of the others gravitating toward the library. I watched and she was right. Every few minutes, Bobby or Jubilee or Evan was exiting and entering the library--usually dragging another person with them.

"Should we investigate?" I asked her with a raised brow.

Rogue shrugged. "What else we got ta do?" she responded, rising from the couch.

Jamie, so immersed in his cartoons, didn't even look up as we passed by him. I smirked a little, placing the remote down next to his hand. Then we strolled toward the library.

Rahne was hanging outside the door, hovering. My guess was that she was playing look-out for any adults. That meant what they were doing was either stupid, dangerous, illegal, or all of the above. I was already intrigued.

"So tell me Rahne," I said subtly to her. "What are we doing behind closed doors?"

"We're playing The King Game," she replied without any hesitation. I wondered who's brilliant idea it was to make her guard... "Wanna play?" she offered.

"Sure," I said. I knew the game, and it was always a hoot. I mean, what else was I to do? Frankly, I was tired of wallowing in misery.

"Ah guess," Rogue responded, following me inside.

All the lights were off in the room. Instead, illumination came from small candles scattered around the tables and on the floor. Mentally, I was leery of such an idea, considering we were in a room full of paper books. A fire hazard is I ever saw one. But Bobby was there, so if a fire erupted, he could always put it out. It made me feel a little better.

"What's this?!" I demanded in mock severity. "Someone forgot to invite us to the party!"

There were a few laughs. "Don't worry," Jean said in that smooth way of hers. "We would have come and gotten you."

"A likely story," Rogue quipped. I was so proud.

I did a quick scan of the room out of habit, noticing who was there, who was not, and marking all the exits in my mind. It seemed that everyone was there accept for Jamie and the instructors. I noticed with a flinch that Kurt was there, avoiding my eyes, trying to pay attention to something Scott was talking to him about.

Evan sat in the middle of the semi-circle that everyone had made around the library floor, a small cup with Popsicle sticks sticking out of it in his hands and a devilish grin on his face. "Greetings ladies," he said to us like the leader of a cult. "Grab a piece of rug, gather 'round, and we'll begin!"

"Part of me is regretting coming in here," I whispered to Rogue. She nodded.

Still, we joined the ranks. I sat Indian-style next to Kitty, Rogue on my other side. Evan called the attention to himself by coughing loudly. He was successful in stopping the chatter, but only forced the annoyed glances of many mutants to fall upon him. "Well, since we'll all here, I say we begin!" he announced.

"Evan, skip to the point," Scott commented.

Evan looked like Scott had stolen his thunder and frowned. "Fine, dude." Then he perked slightly. "Since a few of you may not know the rules of The King Game, I'll go through them." He held up the cup with the Popsicle sticks. "Each stick has a number on it, or a little K. If you have the K stick, then you're the king. The king can tell a numbered stick to do anything he or she wants them to do or say. No more than two numbers can go in one turn. Once the king's decree is done, the sticks go back in the jar and we start again."

"Sounds easy enough," Jubilee commented.

"It gets tricky, especially when someone tells you something retarded," Evan responded.

"Let's get this show on the road!" I cheered. Evan nodded and handed the cup around the room. Everyone drew a stick from the cup.

"What number did you get?" I asked Rogue, leaning toward her.

"Seven," she whispered back. "What did ya get?"

"I got ten," I whispered back.

"Ah hope they don't pick us ta do anythin' stupid," she wished. I nodded.

"Wo-hoo!" Bobby hooted. "I'm the King!"

"Oh Lord," Rogue muttered under her breath just loud enough so that I could hear. I snickered a little, then waited for the 'King' to make his move.

"As King," Bobby gloated with a grin. I watched as some of the younger classmen flinched when his blue eyes scanned over them, looking for a willing target. "I command number eight to tell Logan he looks good in yellow spandex!"

There was a moment of hushed silence as we all glanced around, trying to see who had the cursed number. I could tell right away that it was, in fact, Evan. His face has turned ashen as all the blood drained from him. His eyes were riveted to his stick, as if by sheer force of will he could change the number written there.

"Uh-oh," I said to Rogue. "Looks like Evan is our first sacrifice."

"I demand a re-do!" Evan dried, leaping to his feet. "This is insane!"

"Sorry pal," Bobby said, patting him on the shoulder. "If you recall, you were the one who came up with the game."

"And laid down all the rules," Sam added.

"And told us to take it seriously," Roberto finished.

"Face it dude," Ray said with a smirk. "You're fucked!"

"That's one way to put it," Evan mumbled.

"Like, don't just stand there!" Kitty chirped. "Go find Logan!"

We all gathered around the doorway as Evan took the first few steps out the door and in search of our humorless instructor. I was in awe of Evan really, for having the guts to actually go through with the game's dare and tell the Wolverine his attractiveness in yellow spandex.

We followed Evan down the hallway and around the corner. Logan was just getting off the elevator from leaving the Danger room and he didn't look happy. He looked even less so when he saw the group of us, led by Evan, like our lamb to the slaughter. He glared at Evan as he took a few steps forward.

"Hey Logan," said boy tried casually. Logan only grunted, looking to the rest of us gathering around before meeting Evan's gaze again. Evan panicked for a minute, then fulfilled his mission. "Didja know that...uh...you look really...spiffy...in yellow spandex?"

Logan, for a long moment, looked like he was just slapped across the face with a frozen fish. Stunned is a word highly overrated. "_What!_?" was all he could manage when air returned to him.

"Gotta go!" Evan said, turning on his heel and dashing toward us. The group of X-Men behind him--me included--parted to let him race by, back toward the library. We followed, half of us laughing so hard we were in tears. Logan watched us all, a look of sheer confusion and outrage on his features.

When I got back to the library, Evan was once more in the center of the room, hands on his knees, panting loudly. "I...seriously...hate...you...all," he wheezed between gulps of air.

"On with the game!" Jean said cheerily, gathering the sticks back into a cup and dispensing them as Evan had done. This time, he opted out of the game. He much preferred to watch from one of the cushiony chairs where he could regain his breath and glare at us all.

"Huh, look at that. Lucky seven," Scott said to himself from his seat across from me. I looked down at my stick; number three. Rogue, however, had landed herself the King stick.

"Aw, crud," Rogue whined to me. She didn't want the attention.

"Rogue's King?" Rahne asked.

"Queen," I corrected with a grin. I was met with a few chuckles.

"Parker," she said, turning to me with a defeated look. "Help me think up somethin' good?"

I thought for a minute, looking around the room for a victim worthy of humiliation. My eyes fell upon Scott and I smiled. Lucky seven, indeed. I leaned toward Rogue and whispered into her ear. Soon, her grin mirrored my own.

"Numba seven," she said sweetly, sitting tall with her chin high like a true southern woman. "Answa a question honestly."

Scott perked up, looking over at Rogue calmly. "What question?" he asked.

"Do ya like guys?" Rogue said with a wicked smile.

Scott balked. "Do I like...What the hell!?" There was a chorus of laughter from around the room, snickers under their breath and curious glances from under lowered lashes.

"Answa the question," Rogue pestered.

"No I don't like guys!" Scott huffed, as if insulted we even asked.

"Oh come on Scott," I laughed. "Even you have to admit to your lack of enthusiasm in the opposite sex."

He blushed dully, more angry than embarrassed. "My opinions are my own," he said firmly.

"Then prove it ta us," Rogue suggested.

"Excuse me," Scott choked. "_Prove_ my sexual orientation?"

"Kiss one a tha girls," she said simply. "'cept me, cuz I'll kill ya."

"Ha ha," Scott commented with a scowl. "And just who am I supposed to kill, Queen Rogue?"

"Kiss Jean!" I said with a laugh. "As the Queen's advisor, I nominate Jean as our sacrifice toward this experiment."

Jean and Scott were both glaring at me and Rogue, but we only laughed, holding on to each other's arms so we wouldn't fall over in our fit. The others also laughed under the breath, though not as loudly as to invoke the notice of the two senior classmen.

Finally, Scott rolled his eyes and stalked to our side of the circle. He shot us another scowl before leaning over Jean and kissing her quickly on the mouth. It was barely a breath, hardly a kiss, but he did it.

"Happy now?" he growled.

We both nodded. Jean blushed and just rolled her eyes at the few 'oooo's that went around the room. The sticks were collected and we started again.

After Rogue, Kitty got the King stick. "Ok!" she clapped. "This is for everyone. We'll go around the circle and, like, tell our most embarrassing memory." There was a loud groan from everyone, but I actually smiled. I was never easily embarrassed, so the indication didn't bother me. "I'll go first," Kitty offered. She thought for a moment, then blushed as she smiled. "My most embarrassing situation is when Rogue overhears my private conversations on the phone."

"Well," Rogue commented. "When yer up 'til two in tha mornin' yammerin' on, I'm bound to hear some of it."

That broke the ice, and the circle continued. Rahne recalled an incident before she learned how to transform with her clothes on. Jubilee told us a story about her video game obsession in her mall days. Sam recalled a memory with a far tool. Roberto spoke of setting his kitchen on fire. Ray talked about static electricity causing anyone to touch him to get shocked--including his middle school crush. Scott spoke of a time when, on a trip to the mall, he was forced to stand in the women's undergarment department for forty-five minutes while waiting for Kitty and Jean. Jean, in turn, spoke of a time she accidentally used her mind-reading power to listen in on a conversation about her. Kurt talked about an incident where his hologram failed in school and he had to hide in a bathroom stall so no one would see him. Evan, who had rejoined us then, spoke of an event in a locker room where he sneezed and spikes flew everywhere.

Then came Rogue's turn. "Most embarrasin'..." she thought allowed. "That would definitely be when Kurt poofed himself inta the bathroom while Ah was in tha shower."

Then is was my turn and I bent my head in thought. There was an abundance of stupid mishaps that happened when I was a kid and involved my brother, but that wouldn't be honest. That wasn't the truth. My most embarrassing moment occurred while I was living in Hell with DeVero.

"My most embarrassing moment," I said with a wan smile. "Probably when I thought I was pregnant for about a week."

I was met with a wall of silence, eyes wide and staring at me. "You thought you were...what?" someone asked. I think it was Ray.

"I thought I was pregnant," I said again. "I wasn't, of course. And I felt stupid for it afterwards. That's probably my most embarrassing moment."

"When was that?" Rogue asked me, looking at me intently.

"I was fourteen," I said flatly. I didn't want to invite anymore questions upon myself. "Let's start a new round!" I said as brightly as I could as I gathered the sticks together. There was silence still, even as we passed the cup around again.

When Jean was Queen, she made Rogue and me sing the Teen Titans theme song aloud. It was payback for making Scott kiss her, I thought. It was also meant to humiliate us because we both knew the entire song by heart. In the end, everyone was laughing agian, and that's what counted.

Ray and Roberto and Sam forced random numbers to do random things. Rahne had to wear a cowbell the rest of the night, in her wolf form too. Jubilee had to divulge her super secret code for Soul Caliber II, something she would have killed to keep a secret. Bobby was forced to massage Ray's feet. Little, simple things.

During the last round of the game, I was surprised when I drew the King stick for myself. Imagine that, Queen Parker! I knew just what I was going to do, too. I leaned over and checked out Rogue's stick number--six.

"Who's king?" Scott asked, covering a yawn. It was getting late for most of the others.

"I am!" I announced, waving around the stick.

"What are ya gonna do, Queen Parker?" Rogue asked. I could tell by her voice she knew what I had in mind. I turned on her, like a true best friend.

"Number six!" I said in a sing-song voice. "You will talk to the boy of my choosing, come Monday, before school. For five, full minutes. Breaking such a decree will result in...bad things!" I wriggled my finger at her for drama's sake.

She glared at me and crossed her arms. "Fine," Rogue said, as if she could care less.

I could hear some curious whispering from the others. I just smiled. "It's little inside thing," I told them. "I've been trying to get Rogue to talk to this guy, but she never will. Now she has to!" There were a few smiles.

It wasn't a lie. I didn't tell them that the guy was an enemy, a bad-guy. They didn't need to know that. All they needed to know was that he was a nice guy who liked Rogue. And who Rogue liked back! Cut and dry, end of story. Period.

"I say we head in," Kitty suggested, arching her back in a yawning stretch. "It's getting late."

The others nodded and made their way out of the room. I lingered a little, blowing out the candles and putting things away, before I followed the herd upstairs for the night. Not that I was really tired. I was more weary. I walked into my room without turning on the light and poked around.

"Hello Selene," I address my plant, checking her in case of watering. She was still moist so I could get away with watering her in the morning. "Today was so long, I didn't think I'd make it through!"

I think she laughed at me, but I smiled as if she had and hopped on to my bed, stretching out with my hands cradling my head. I was only planning on resting my eyes seeing as how I was still fully clothed, minus my shoes, and still wide awake. But before I knew it, I was asleep. And before I knew it, I was dreaming.

* * *

I was sitting in a dark room, a book in my hands as I read. I heard a noise behind me and whirled. The window on the kitchen door had been broken.

I was back in my old house, the one I was raised in. My mother's house. I was in the living room, where I always went to read at night when I didn't want to bother my brother. He was sound asleep in his bed. Mom was sound asleep in her own. I was the only one awake.

A black gloved hand reached through the broken window and turned the lock on the kitchen door, then pushed it open. My novel was forgotten as I bolted to my feet and scrambled to the stairs. I was screaming by then at the top of my voice. "Mom! Mom!"

It never occurred to me that in the dream I was eleven years old again. That I had read the same novel hundreds of times. That the old house I lived in with my mother and brother had since been bought and totally remodeled by a new family. All I knew was that this was the night I hated more than any other. This was the night when my world fell apart.

The night my mother was murdered.

"Mom!" I screamed again, and she was there. Dressed in a pair of flannel pants and a baggy old tee-shirt, her long hair disheveled, looking as beautiful as ever. Selene Watson.

"Parker, what's wrong?" she asked, her cool hands on my face.

"Someone's breaking into the house!" I cried.

Her face harden. Peter erupted from our room then in a flurry of clothes, dressing as fast as he could. "What's going on!?" he demanded.

"There's a break-in," Mom told him, her eyes already locked on the stairs. "You kids stay here."

"No Mom, we can--" I was cut off by her hand over my mouth,

"Shush," she said firmly. "Stay with your brother." Then she leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "Be brave, my girl," she said, then she left us in the hallway. That was the last time I ever saw my mother alive, because when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was killed.

The murderer never came up the stairs after Peter and me, he just ran away.

The police told us he was probably an amateur, and panicked when Mom came in on him. Her death was an accident. But I knew differently. I knew that the thief was no thief at all, considering nothing was taken from our house, nothing was rummaged through. He had been waiting at the stairs for my mother.

I knew how the truth went. I know that when Mom died, I was upstairs, holding Peter in my arms as I cried and he strained against me to protect our mother. But this was a dream and it wasn't real.

So when dream-Parker followed my mother down the stairs, I wasn't surprised. I was afraid.

I didn't want to see the blow that sent Selene Watson to her knees, to bleed on the carpeted floor until all her life ebbed away. I didn't want to see the faceless masked man who took away everything dear in my life with one single act. But I did.

I saw the hidden man in black raise his knife and bring it down upon my mother. I saw the bloody wound, heard her scream, felt her pain as if it were my own. I saw the man in black run from the house the way he had come as dream-Parker caught the dying dream-Selene in her arms and lowered her to the floor.

I could smell the blood, taste the tears, feel the jerky pulse in her veins as the crimson stain on her shirt grew bigger and bigger. I cried, I screamed, I raged, but it didn't save her. Nor did it stop what happened next.

As I held her, eleven-year-old Parker aged into seventeen-year-old Parker. My old house shifted into the Institute. And Selene Watson faded into Rogue. I held her in my arms as her life flowed from her and her lashes fluttered closed over green eyes. I watched her die. I was as helpless to save my best friend as I was helpless to save my mother.

The pain was just as bad over the loss of Rogue as it was over the loss of Selene.

The dream shifted then. I was no longer holding Rogue, she was gone. I was the one laying now. Paralyzed in one position as the face of my brother, aged and mature and handsome to behold, swam before my eyes. It was the same nightmare I had been having for two weeks now. The same dream that had caused me to give up on Kurt.

And as it had been so many times, I watch DeVero kill my brother. I looked to see the bodies of the X-Men hung from the walls like war trophies. My eyes welled as I looked at them, especially when I looked at Kurt. He seemed the most broken of all. Why did it have to be this way? Isn't there anything that I can do?

_Run away_, a voice whispered to me on the wind. _It's the only way. You must leave._

_

* * *

_

That was when my Earthly eyes shot open and I sat up in my bed, breathing heavily. God, how I hated my dreams sometimes, especially the nightmares. They always kept me awake in fear, made me tremble when it was time to sleep.

I did what I always did. I ran. Ran from my room and the memory of the dream and headed into the dark house once more. More importantly, I headed toward the kitchen. It was my hidden sanctuary, something I only shared with one person. The one person I had decided to push away.

Granted, it was just my luck that he was there when I entered the room.

I think he sensed me before he actually noticed I was there. Of course, I could see him as if it were the middle of the day, but darkness was my camouflage. It was where I felt the most safe.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"I come here every night," he commented idly.

"I know," I said in a defeated tone. "I just didn't know you'd be here _right now_."

"I'll leave then."

And suddenly I was gripped with an extreme panic that if he left, I was be stuck in my lonely dark place forever, that the light would disappear and that I would die. Irrational fear threatened to drown me, so I took a few quick steps to the counter. "Don't go," I said a little too fast, a little too forcefully.

He looked at me strangely. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lied, and it felt like lead on my tongue. He wasn't convinced, but he kept silent. Finally, I sighed in a rush, grasping my head in both my hands. "Everything!"

I heard Kurt shift, as if getting more comfortable in preparation for a long story. I was angered by that, and I was scared of it. Angry that he would assume I'd tell him and scared because I knew I was going to. And I did.

"I had this dream," I began. "It was a dream I've had before, of the night my mother died. Only after a while, it wasn't my mother anymore. It was Rogue who was dying. And then, it comes into this nightmare that I've been having for weeks. My brother is there, bending over me. I think I'm hurt or something, I can barely move. And then he's killed, and I look and all of you are killed to, and I don't know what to do. If there is anything I can do at all, being such a helpless ass as I am." I paused to slam a fist down on the counter. "Then a little voice is telling me to run away, that it's the only way I can save anyone."

I stopped, my anger draining. I just hugged myself. "The only thing I'm good at is running away. I've run away from everything in my life because I was never strong enough to fight for myself. I can fight for everyone else, but not me."

"That will never happen," Kurt said simply.

I whipped around, looking up at him. He watched me with a level expression. "Why?" I asked him. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I have faith," he replied. "It will never happen."

"My dreams are almost never wrong."

"Almost never?" he countered.

"If I change something, then sometimes, they'll change," I explained.

"Then we'll just have to think of something to change," Kurt told me easily. "Then the dream with change. Simple."

"We?" I questioned hopefully.

"Ja, you and me."

I sighed, an ironic smile on my face. It figures that the one person I wanted to keep at a distance would be the one person to help me change what is almost written in stone. Life is funny like that.

We spoke on it for a while, then we went back to our prospective rooms. The weekend went like that, only now Kurt and I were openly friends. He spoke to me more than a simple hi in passing, and I actively sought him out during free moments in my time. We spoke more about what could be done, what could be changed.

By the time Monday came around, I had hope in my heart again.

It was just my luck that as soon as I felt some semblance of happiness, I would be thrown a curve ball.

* * *

...It began like any other Monday morning, Mom.

I forced Rogue to act out my decree from the King Game. She talked to Remy an entire five minutes, much to her extreme annoyance and his immense pleasure. I even wandered off a bit so that I wouldn't intrude on the conversation. From what I gathered after Rogue started speaking to me again, he had flirted with her. And even had the nerve_ to ask her out._

I was laughing the entire way to my locker. I opened the combination and reached to pull out a book when it caught my eye. A small white business card, no bigger than a post-it note. It was wedged between two of my text books, like someone had opened the locker and put it there as opposed to shoving it through the vents.

I pulled it free with trembling fingers and read the familiar heading. The name of the nightmares.

DeVero has found me, Mom. I don't know how. I don't know when. But he found me. His calling card greeted me at my locker this morning and I know that by tomorrow, I will be gone.

I can't stay in Bayville for another day.

To my shame, I have to run away. Again.

---All my love, Parker

* * *

A/N: Please R&R!


	7. Entry 7

A/N: Rar! I wanted to get this chapter out so very long ago, but then my girlfriend broke her leg. And then there was trouble at home. And I'm still working 5 days a week... Instead, I'm getting it out tonight (seeing as how I don't have school tomorrow) and I'm really going to try hard to get chapter eight out this week, because I have it planned and I need an outlet for my depressed melodrama. Anyway, here's seven. Enjoy!

(_For Vonna: Because I love you sooooooooooooooooo much, I'm stretching it out another chapter, just to make you suffer. The letter won't be seen until chapter eight!_)

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution, never have, never will. I own Parker, and the love in my heart (worth a combined $.92)

* * *

Chapter 7

* * *

Dear Mom,

This is the last letter I will write to you, in this journal anyway. I've decided to leave this behind.

Sure, it'll be a kind of poetic justice, to show that my existence in this place, no matter how brief, will never be forgotten by anyone who lives here. But that's not the real reason. My reason is more simplistic than that.

If I were to be caught, I don't want this record of events, these letters to you about my feelings for this people, this place, to be read by the wrong eyes. This notebook is between you and me, Mom. This is what I would tell you of these people, those that I have come to love, and this is only for your eyes to see.

It's only right that I leave this journal, something so important to me, to someone that I trust to keep this book just as sacred as I have.

For a while, I thought about leaving this to Rogue.

I trust her, Mom. She's the only best friend I've had since Peter. The only girl I've ever trusted so much as I did you. But she wouldn't understand it's meaning.

She wouldn't understand because she has never felt what I feel, never known what I did. Rogue, for all her infinite grace and compassion, for all her uniqueness and quiet beauty, has never been loved unconditionally. She's never had someone tuck her into bed, bake her cookies when she's sad, make her chicken soup when she's sick. Rogue has simply never known the warmth that I was given, Mom. So she could never understand what it would be like to have it all taken away.

She just wouldn't know why I hang on as hard as I do. Why I keep this journal, and still write to you.

Rogue wouldn't fully comprehend why I still love you, after everything I've seen and done and been through, and why I still need the comfort of knowing you know everything.

I'm not sure there is anyone here who could fully relate what this really means, but there is only one other person I would trust with you.

Kurt.

Which, in itself, is something I haven't given the proper thought.

No, I can't say I've thought any of this out really. I've just been on auto-pilot since i found the card in my locker this morning. It's just like all the times before, where I'm scrambling to prepare for a hasty departure without tipping anyone off.

It makes me indescribably sad, Mom, that the final two weeks that I had wanted to spend here with my friends is gone. I'll never get those two weeks back, just like I can never see any of the X-Men again. Just another thing that DeVero has taken from me.

Mostly, I'm sorry that I couldn't find Peter.

He was my reason for coming here, not the emotionally suicidal decision to make friends and get close to people. I was trying to find Pete, and I failed at that too. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry to Pete too. There are traces of him though, so I have some comfort in knowing he's still alive. Still, I haven't found him.

Part of me doubts I ever will. Part of me hopes I never will too.

I'm all packed and ready to leave, I just wanted to finish this final entry before I run. Run again.

I know, I know, no pity parties.

What Mom? You ask how I got ready so fast? That i could pack a whole new life into two saddle bags in a matter of hours? Well, it's kind of a long story. Yeah, I'll tell you...for you, anything...

* * *

I found a card in my locker.

A little piece of paper that should mean nothing. Something that was once part of a tree and nothing more. It was what was on the card that had my frozen, had my blood running cold, had my head throbbing in an instant.

I was never one to scare easily. Even the whole fear of men thing, it's a twinge compared to the out and out assault on my heart that I was getting just looking at the name printed in black letters.

So, of course, I did the mature thing in a situation like that.

I dropped my backpack on the floor, turned on my heel for the nearest bathroom and deposited my breakfast in the first open toilet.

Graceful, I know.

Rogue was outside when I was finished, looking worried.

I told her I was feeling sick, pocketing the card before she could see it. She handed me my backpack, looking unconvinced, but was smart enough not to harp on me. She was worried, that was all, and I was happy to know that she cared. But I was still miserable and shaking and scared.

So I told her I would go home, call in sick.

I didn't of course, but no sense in worrying Rogue even more than she already was.

I ditched out before homeroom started, beating the rush of kids in the hallway and walking toward my bike while dragging my feet. My head was buzzing, fight or flight instincts taking hold stronger than I've ever felt before.

Run from DeVero, the enemy.

Protect the X-Men, the family.

Run to save them. Run to save yourself.

Run. Run. RUN.

I didn't run. I was too dizzy to run. Instead, I leaned against the large tree out front, resting my forehead against the cool bark. At least hugging a huge mass lets you know that you aren't spinning, despite the fact that your feet fold beneath you and you are now deposited on the ground.

I was shivering, hugging the tree, praying that I wouldn't throw up again.

He found me.

How could he have found me? If he knew where I was, why not just come get me? Why the mind games? Always the mind games, the show of power, or dominance, or ownership. I was his, he always said, and he'd never let me forget it. He took from me, over and over, and I couldn't stop him. I was his, and this was just a show of his power again.

I had never really escaped him, I realized.

Maybe there was space between us, but he still had the power to cripple me at the mere thought of his return, of his presence. The thought of his hands made my skin crawl. The sound of his voice made my teeth clench. A growl forced it's way to my throat, but it was choked down by an equally powerful sob.

God, I was pathetic sometimes. Weak, when it came to the only thing in life I truly feared. Andrew DeVero was the devil, and I was still part of his Hell. No matter how far I ran, the distance would never be enough. He would always have that control over me, and that moment made me feel it harder than ever before.

Because I had believed myself safe. I had let myself find a home, and now I was paying the price.

Then, I suddenly realized I wasn't alone when a smooth accented voice spoke from the other side of the tree. "Vous regardez le malade, doux."

I breathed heavily against the bark of the tree, trying to erase the signs of fear and tears from my voice. Truthfully, if he could tell I was sick, he could tell that I had been crying, but he was enough of a gentleman not to mention it. Never letting go of the hold I had on the tree, I looked up at Remy as he crouched down beside me.

"Quelque chose que je peux faire pour aider?"

I laughed, but it came out more like a choking sound. I just shook my head. "No," I told him in English. I don't think there's anything you can do to help."

"I can help you from the ground," he said simply, getting to his feet and offering me his hand. I just stared at it for a moment, and he never wavered for a second. Standing there, offering me his help, without a word or a thought of consequences. And Rogue told me he was a bad guy...

Finally, I placed my hand in his own. I noticed then how small my hand was in comparison to his own. Would I be this small to Peter if I found him again? Had he outgrown me? Would his hand be as warm, as steady, as the hand of this mutant who was nearly a stranger to me?

Remy pulled me gently to my feet, and I felt the world fall back into place. At least it stopped spinning, if not all my problems disappeared. I let out a deep breath and looked up at my helper. He looked back at me, his mutant eyes ever as watchful as my own.

I think there was something about this one, this boy who was almost a man, that reminded me of myself in a way. And in that moment, something passed there. I was no longer afraid, on the edge of hysteria. The card was still hidden in the pocket of my pants like a hundred-pound anvil, but it wasn't choking me of air. It was only reminding me of my course. I would not be crippled again, I would not be helpless.

"Merci," I said to him with a small bow of my head, my eyes never leaving his.

"Vous etes bienvenu," he welcomed me, mimicking my slight bow. Then he reached into the pocket of his jacket and fished out a crushed pack of cigarettes. Following that was the appearance of a lighter, which he deftly opened and brought the flame to the crumpled tip of the stick now dangling from his bottom lip. After taking a drag from the stick, the ash tip falling to the ground, he offered it to me. "Vous vivez seulement une fois."

"Very true," I agreed, accepting the offered cigarette. It is true, what he said. You only live once.

We were quiet for quite a while after that, sharing the first cigarette, and then the second without so much as a word. Together, huddled beneath the tree, right in front of the only school that I had ever attended. It was when I crushed the second butt beneath my boot that I looked up at him and spoke again.

"I want you to do something for me." One eyebrow arched, but he didn't say a word to interrupt me. I think he was too surprised by my bluntness, and too curious about my intentions, to stop me either way. "I want you to look after her."

"Who would that be?" he asked with a joking half-smile.

I snorted. "You know who," I said. "Rogue."

"And here, I thought you didn't want me near her. Or do you often make empty threats?"

"My threats are never empty," I said with a wicked grin. I swung my backpack on to my shoulder. There were things to do today and as much as hanging around here smoking with a hot guy appealed to my teenage girl side, I just couldn't do it. "But seeing as how I won't be here to enforce them, I need you to be my eyes."

He grinned then, and the girl in me rejoiced even as the irrational fear inside my stomach began to churn. "I have two very good ones."

"I noticed," I told him, meeting my yellow to his red. "Quite a pair we would have made, eh?"

"Then why not remain?"

It was innocent enough, but the shiver up my spine made me shake my head and quite the retort heavy on my tongue. "I've been here long enough. I have to get moving again. But I mean it, I want you to look after her."

Remy placed a hand over his heart earnestly. "On my honor as a gentleman."

I would have outright laughed at that, had he not just a little while ago offered me his hand out of pure chivalry. Still, I couldn't let him totally slide. "I expect her home by curfew. No debauchery or corruption. And most importantly," I said, poking him once in the chest. "You gotta treat her right. Rogue's not the love-'em and leave-'em type. If you're gonna start something, you see it through, got me?"

He nodded. "Salut, doux."

"I will," I assured him, touched in spite of myself. "Salut, Remy." And then I left him under the tree, starting on his third cigarette, and I took a mental snapshot of that.

For the first time in a long time, I had felt at ease in the presence of a man who could, quite easily, have overpowered me if he had desired. And what had he down? Helped me in a bad place and gave me time to collect myself. In my heart, I knew he'd treat my friend well.

I reached my bike in the parking lot, and strapped my backpack down easily. Then I swung into the seat and revved the engine, gunning it out of the lot as if the hounds of hell were at my back tire. I just closed the first, and probably only, public school experience of my life.

Suddenly, I got this quirky thought in my head. It was like one of the announcers after the super bowl asking the MVP what he was going to do now that he won. You know how they always say they're going to Disneyland? Well, it felt like the announcer was saying that to me right now. "Parker Watson, you haven't found your brother and your crazy foster father is after you again, what are you going to do now?"

For no reason, even as tears began to course down my face again, I shouted at the top of my lungs, "I'm going to Disneyland!"

Now, I wasn't really going to Disneyland. For one, I had no money. For two, I really had no desire, it was just one of those things that popped into my head. But it made me think about where I really was going to go now that Bayville was no longer open to me. I mean, I'd only been there a few weeks and already I had come to look at this place as home. I knew this place, and loved it, and wanted it for myself. It just wasn't meant to be.

So I went where any other self-respecting teen ditching school went. To the mall.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly if you think about it, it was already packed with people. I wandered around for a little while before I found that store Rogue had dragged me to the last time we were here. I smiled and walked in, just needing some place to be comfortable and secure.

I didn't expect him to be there, but there he was anyway. The same place he was in last time, checking out the shirts. It was kind of a deja vu scenario that made me smile lazily.

"Why Lance," I said easily, the smile in my voice. "Fancy seeing you here on a school day!"

He whirled, blinked twice, then colored as he flashed a guilty smile. Somehow, he wasn't as surprised to see me as I thought he would be. Could it be that I gave myself away as being a bad ass? "I should be saying the same thing to you."

"Pish posh," I joked. "Who needs book learnin'!"

"Oh great, another lecture."

"No lecture," I said with my hands up. "I do not judge, I only observe and send the data back to my people on the mother ship."

Lance just shook his head and laughed. "What are you doing here?"

I shrugged. "Just cruising the mall one more time before I hit the road."

"Hit the road?" He was confused, so I simplified.

"I'm leaving the Institute tonight. The place just isn't for me, and I've got other places to be."

"I thought you liked it there," Lance commented idly, hands in his pockets as we walked from the store and into the throng of the mall. We left under the guise of looking for Tabby, who was still at large somewhere, but we really just talked a little. I linked my arm through one of his as we walked, a kind of comfortable gesture. I surprised myself really, but then I decided not to analyze the fact and just continue walking. "You and Rogue seemed close."

"Yeah, she's great, but the whole school thing," I shook my head, breaking off. "I'm not cut out for that kind of life. At least not yet, you know?"

"I guess," he conceded.

"But don't think I'm letting you off easy," I commented with an accusatory finger. "You better take care of my little Kitty, or I'll be back on my bike and in your grill faster than you can say "stalker"."

Lance held up his hands in mock surrender, but he was smiling none the less. "Ok, I agree."

"Well this is a cozy little scene!" a loud voice said from behind us. Lance and I turned to find Tabby, shopping bags in hand, giving us a very suggestive look.

"Hi Tabby," I said with a grin. "You remember me, right?"

"Rogue's friend, the Finch-fan," she said triumphantly. Her eyes lit with amusement as I nodded. "I'm good with faces, horrible at names."

"I can't imagine why," Lance muttered, giving her a scathing look as he eyed her purchases. "Don't tell me you blew our food money on that crap."

"Come _on_, Lance!" she whined in the characteristic girl voice that all femmes possess. "There are just some things that a woman needs." She sighed disgustedly. "You'll never understand the complexity of the fairer sex!"

"Whoa, whoa," I said with a snicker. "Let's not get into a gender war here."

"But that's our ritual," Lance said, still glaring at Tabby. She, in turn, glared right back. "She blows our funds on make-up and knock-off clothes while we go hungry, and she cries femininity."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Wow, I am totally impressed Tabby."

"Hey!" Lance objected. We women only laughed. A secret code, if you will. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost being the key word.

For about an hour I wandered with the two other teenagers. Tabby would occasionally drag us into one store or another so she could make some dire purchase that Lance would argue with her about, but she'd end up buying it anyway. I sprang for food, seeing as how Lance was utterly without cash and Tabby was "being conservative". I figured three subs was the least I could do.

At around noon, I decided it was time to end my final romp with the Brotherhood, so I broke it to them gently outside of Abercrombie and Fitch.

"This is where I have to say goodbye kiddies."

"Really?" Tabby asked, pouting slightly.

"Sorry," I smiled. "I still have to pack some stuff and take off tonight."

Lance held out his hand. "Well, take care then." I accepted the shake. "I hope we'll see you again."

I couldn't tell him yes, because I knew the facts were that I was never coming back here. But at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to say that. "Maybe," was my response with a forced smile. "Do me a favor and tell the rest of the Bro-hood to lay off the X-men, ok? Scott has a hard enough time getting laid as it is, stressing him out too much will just destroy his libido for life."

We laughed for about three minutes straight picturing that. Or rather, how nothing about Scott would really change, except his drive for success. What's that thing they say about male animals after the "snip-snip" incident? They "calm down"?

I left on a high note, waving to them from the door before I left the sanctity of the mall for the woes of reality once more. It's funny how the world looks so much darker once you leave a mall.

For a while, I didn't really know where to go. I didn't want to go back to the Institute, seeing as how I was supposed to be in school and I really didn't want to tell them that I got sick in the bathroom. Then, as I was driving along, I knew exactly where to go. I took the next left out of town and into the state park where Rogue had taken me once before.

The leaves were starting to change color. I noticed it as I drove to the playground and parked. This time I walked past the swings and sat beneath the monkey bars. I pulled my journal and a pencil from the side bag. Turning to a clean page, I started sketching.

It could have been minutes, or maybe even hours that passed as I sat there drawing. Frankly, I could have been there days and it wouldn't have mattered. All that mattered was the pencil on paper, and the picture in my mind. The first page began with the trunk of a tree, and a lean body reclining against it. I took my time, adding all the details from the pockets in his trench coat to the lit cigarette in his hand. Remy came alive on my paper, forever immortalized by my pen.

The second drawing was a scene inspired during lunch. Lance was hunched at one end of a small food court table, half a sub in his hands as he glared daggers at Tabby, who sat across from him. I made sure to have his hair falling across his forehead at just the right angle. For Tabby, I made sure that the straw on the drink she was holding the properly chewed and that her lips were thinned against her teeth, a second from baring them in an angry gesture.

The third, and final drawing, was of Ororo, bending over her plants to add the merest drop of water to an African violet. Her hair was swept back and the light was hitting the flowers at just the right degree to make them open. It almost looked real, but it could never fully hold the grace and beauty of the true scene.

None of my drawings could fully hold the unhindered life of those who donned their pages. It was impossible to transfer life to something not alive. I, of all people, knew this fact. Me, the Dreamweaver. The girl able to create anything with only her hands and her will. But I knew that life could not be created by shortcuts or powers, only by nature.

When I finished, I decided it was about time for me to be heading back, so I packed up my stuff and drove back. It turns out I was a little late. Scott's car was already in the garage, and I just knew the lecture I was about to get from Rogue when I went inside, so I stayed out for a minute.

I saw Logan wheeling his bike out on the driveway, tool box in hand. He was about to tinker some. I decided that now was as good a time as any to give him my 'round-about goodbye, so I headed over to him.

"What's wrong with your bike now?" I asked him when I got over there.

"Muffler's loose," he replied, eyes never leaving said part. "Can't get it to stay on."

"Have you tried bubble gum?" It was meant as a joke, though bubble gum does actually work as a good temporary adhesive when you're stuck on a highway without a gas station for miles.

His grunt said it all. I hunched down beside him, looking at the muffler. He grabbed a wrench and started tightening this bolt and loosening this nut. I held the muffler steady while he did this. When he was done, he nodded his head to me in thanks. "Don't mention it," I told him. Then I gulped and took the plunge. "Thanks for letting me help you with your bike before, and now."

He looked at me a second, then went back to his task. "You're the only kid here who knows a damn thing about bikes." I took that to mean "you're welcome".

"Bye Logan," I said, getting up and heading back toward the house. Granted, he had no idea that I was saying goodbye forever, but I got to say my goodbye. Now I had to deal with the rest of the house.

I avoided Rogue as long as I could, slipping through room after room. First on my list was Beast. He was easy, all i had to do was whip up a turkey sandwich and deliver it to him in the lower levels. Most grateful, and ever polite, as he is, I think he knew something more was on my mind. I just told he never to stop being fuzzy inside and out, then took my leave.

Scott was in the Danger Room, as if it was a surprise. I didn't suit up to join him as I had planned to do. Instead, I waited for him to have a break, then brought him a bottle of water.

"You're looking good out there," I told him.

"I'd get a higher ratio if you were with me," he grinned. "You're pretty brutal with those stick things."

"Batons," I corrected. "They aren't pointy, which is why I love them." I paused a moment, then I just tossed an arm around his shoulder in an impulsive half-hug. "I'm sorry that I won't be running with you today," I told him when I pulled back, as if explaining my breech of self-control. If he understood at all, he didn't say anything. He only looked at my strangely for a moment. "Bye Scott." And with that, I left him to his robots and his running courses.

The next person I found was Jean. She was in the kitchen with Jubilee and Rahne, drinking lemonade and doing Algebra homework. There was classic Jean for you, helping the others whenever they asked her. She was selfless and beautiful and brilliant. Yes, there was definitely a reason to hate her. But even still, there was more to love about her.

I made my rounds a 3-for-1 deal. I refilled their glasses, listened in for a few minutes, offered help where I could, then said my subtle goodbye. They waved and went back to work. How were they to know I really meant goodbye?

Ray, Roberto and Bobby were in the dinning room, polishing off an afternoon snack and having one of their "manly" power contests. It ended with Ray scorching the wall again, Roberto accidentally setting the drapes on fire, and Bobby freezing the china until it cracked. I laughed until I cried when Ororo burst in and gave them the scolding of their young lives. I blew each of them a kiss and said goodbye. All three of them colored and left the room in the other direction. Much as they were fools, I would miss their entertainment.

I followed Ororo up to her room. "Can I help you water your plants?" I asked her.

"Of course," she agreed, handing me a small watering can. We went about our task eagerly. I tested all the pots with the tip of my finger, then added some water when needed. "How is my ivy doing?"

"Selene is just fine," I chatted. I had already told her early about my having named the plant. "She's perking up and taking to the sun wonderfully. In fact, all the brown is gone from her leaves."

"That's wonderful," she congratulated me.

"Thanks again, for giving her to me," I said kind of quietly. I was getting close to my goodbye and my throat was closing up. It was harder than I thought to tell this woman farewell.

"It was an easy decision," she told me with a kind look. I placed my watering can down and hugged her.

"Thank you for having faith in me," I told her fiercely before pulling back and heading to the door. "Bye Ororo."

"Parker, is there something wrong?" she asked as I opened the door to leave.

I froze. What to do? What to say? I didn't know where to even begin. "No." It wasn't a lie really. Something wasn't wrong, everything was.

My list was growing shorter, and the day was drawing shorter, so I sped up a little. Amara was a quick farewell. She was reading a novel in her room when I popped in to tell her dinner was ready and that she better move if she expected food. I walked her to the dining room, telling her that I regretted us not having a chance to get to know each other better. She agreed, and was sorry when I veered away from the crowd eating dinner. Our goodbye was short, but not without meaning.

After the dinner crowd cleared, I made my move on Evan. He was on dish detail, so I made it my mission to help him out. He thanked me about fifty times, all the while I was laughing and telling him not to worry about it. When we parted, I "officially" rocked. I'd miss him, though I didn't expect to really. Evan made life fun for anyone around him, even if it was only by him hurting himself in a skating accident.

Sam was in the living room, battling Jubilee on some video game or another, so I don't think he paid much attention when I said goodbye to him. Still, I laughed at the scene they made and went off to find Kitty.

Kitty was one of the few people in this place that I felt that I had grown close to. I found her in her room, working on her homework while color-coding her sock drawer. I smiled at the sheer absurdity, and yet the absolute perfection of the situation. It was totally Kitty.

I flopped across her bed and watched for a second. "Tell me Kitty, is this your idea of fun?"

I got a sock in the face for my trouble. "Well, if I don't do it, who will?" she said in that superior tone of hers. I grinned.

"Very true." I fiddled with the white sock beside me on the bed, solemn now. "You know Kitty, you've been nothing but wonderful to me since I came here. I just wanted to thank you for it."

"It's nothing Parker," she said with a smile over her shoulder at me. "You're easy to be nice to."

I smiled, feeling a place in my heart tighten as I got to my feet. I couldn't find anything else to say, so I just hugged her quickly. "Have a good night Kitty." I couldn't find it in me to say that dreaded word of goodbye to her.

Finally, when I was leaving her room, Rogue confronted me. "Ah thought ya went home sick," she said with a frown, hands on her hips.

"Don't pout, Rogue," I told her. "You're prettier when you smile."

"Don't change tha subject," she demanded testily. "Didja ditch me today for any important reason?"

"I didn't ditch you," I said with a sigh. "I really was sick. I just didn't want to come here and be fretted over."

"Where did ya go?" Already she was softening up. That was just Rogue, all bark with a marshmallow center.

"I went to the park," I informed her. "Listen sweetie, I'm going to go watch some TV. I'm just...tired. We'll talk later, ok?"

"Yer ditchin' me again?" She looked and sounded hurt. I reached over and tugged on her sleeve. When she looked up, I gave her a look that I hope conveyed how much I didn't want to say goodbye to her right now. There was so much to say, so much unsaid that I just couldn't bring myself to begin. I opened my mouth to say something else, but then closed it when she held up a hand. "Forget it," she said. "Ah ain't yer babysitter." With that, she stormed off.

I wanted to stop her, wanted to go after her and say what I wanted to, but I didn't. I couldn't. I just couldn't find it in myself to say goodbye to my best friend. So instead, I went downstairs and joined Jamie who was, as always, watching television. I sat beside him on the couch for an evening of cartoons.

We didn't talk, and I was glad about that. Eventually, Jamie nodded off, his head leaning on my shoulder. I looked down on him and was reminded strongly of Peter. My senses swam as my eyes filled with exhausted and pained tears. Oh God how I missed my brother. How my heart broke because I was the closest to finding him that I had ever been, but couldn't stay long enough to find him.

"Hey, little man, wake up," I said, shaking Jamie lightly. "Time for bed kiddo."

"Five more minutes, mom," he muttered brokenly, curling up.

"Sorry Jamie, but you have to go to your bed, not the couch." He opened his eyes slowly and blinked up at me. "It lives!"

"Sorry," he blushed, sitting up. Then he stretched and got up. "G'night."

"Good night Jamie," I said as I watched him head up the stairs. "Take care." I got up from the couch and turned off the television, then I walked to the library.

The first thing I did was fish my journal and a pen out of my bag. Then I tore out a few pages of the journal and began to compose a letter. Two in fact. The first was for Rogue. In it I told her everything that I wanted to say to her, but just couldn't bring myself to say to her face to face. The second and most important, was for Kurt. The one person I had not spoken with today. The worst day of my life.

It took me the better part of two hours, but I was able to finish them. When I emerged from the library, the school was dark and all was quiet. It was past the time for my nightly rendezvous with Kurt, so I was sure he was in his room, asleep. I was the only one left lurking.

* * *

...And this is where I leave you, Mom.

I'm sorry again for all that I've left undone, and all the promises I left unfulfilled. I will not let you down, I swear it. I just need more time, but my time here is up.

Look out for me, Mom. I'll need your help now that I'm alone again.

All my love,

Parker

* * *

And lurk I did, right up to my room. I packed up my clothes, shoving them in my saddle bags. The clothes that I was given from the other students were folded and left on my bed. I couldn't pack them, it would be too big a reminder. Well, I did keep Kurt's sweatshirt. And I only kept that because I had become too attached to let it go. And because I was wearing it at the time.

When I was completely packed and there was nothing else keeping me from running, I left my little room, placing my bags in the hallway. I had one final thing to do before I left.

I crept over to the door leading into Kitty and Rogue's room. Slowly, I turned to knob so it wouldn't make a sound, and I snuck in. You ever notice how you make the most noise when you're trying to be quiet? Somehow, miraculously, I made it to Rogue's bedside table without waking her or Kitty. On the table I left the letter I had written her, and I left Selene.

I slipped out again and snuck down the hall to another room. Kurt's room. Journal and letter in hand, I opened his door and slipped inside.

I had never been in his room before, and it was a little cluttered, but not unlivable. Typical boy. Looked kind of like Peter's from back in the day. I shook my head of the thought as I walked further inside. Kurt was in bad, half covered, half hanging over the edge. He looked perfectly comfortable and I had to stifle a giggle.

I placed my journal on the foot of his bed and then backed up a step to look at him. My cat's eyes let me see perfectly, as if night was day, as if he was under a florescent light. If I had to describe Kurt in one word, in the time I've known him, through all the conversations we've had and all the times I'd watch him at school or with the others when no one knew I was watching, it would be "open".

I doubt he even realizes how very open he is. With anyone. It's like he can embrace any situation, any person, and still come out as the same person with more wisdom. He was just the kind of person you know would understand anything, even someone as screwed up as me.

I think it was in that moment that I realized I had inadvertently fallen into a situation I could only classify as some for of affection, bordering on love. Freaky, yes. Surprising, not really. Kurt had a way of growing on a person. I was just another casualty.

"I have to go now," I whispered to him. He didn't stir. "I know on some level that you hear me, so I wanted to come clean. I'm sorry that I have to go like this, like a thief in the night. I just don't want to get anyone hurt. Especially since all of you have been nothing but kind and generous to me since I've come here. Especially since all of you have had it hard enough as it is without all my problems to add to it."

I shifted, sighing slightly. "This is the solution to my dream, Kurt. I have to leave the Institute, for the good of everyone here. Forgive me, ok?" I got up and leaned over him. "Take care of yourself." Then I did something foolish and impulsive and so unlike myself I can't tell you what came over me. My brain stopped working--it had too--because there was no other explanation for me to do what I did.

I kissed Kurt.

Granted he was sleeping and I scampered out of the room a second later, but it's the principle of the thing.

I'm an idiot.

So I grabbed up my bags and left the second floor. When I came to the front door on the bottom of the stairs, I used my powers to create a lock pick and quickly opened the door. Then I slipped outside to the garage, dodging the surveillance as I went. I couldn't help but feel like scum, but I knew this was the best thing I could do.

I wheeled my bike out of the garage and a few yards from the door before I hopped on and started it. Even though the engine wasn't loud, I didn't want to take any chances. I drove down the long driveway and toward the gate. Once I was outside of it, I made to gun and take off out of Bayville, but something prevented me.

The fact that I was physically lifted off of my bike.

I would have screamed, but a hand came down over my mouth. Even as I struggled, I was held fast.

Then I saw it. The face of my nightmares. The face I had been running from for over a year. DeVero.

In his hand was a small gun, like the ones you'd see in a jewelry place for piercing your ears, only instead of a stud in it there was a small microchip. It was an inhibitor, placed in the back of my neck, to control my powers. My eyes widened as he brought it closer. I thrashed in a stranger's arms, flailing, fighting. It did no good. He brought the gun to my neck which was forcefully exposed due to my captor.

I felt it pierce my skin and then my world went black.

* * *

A/N: No responses because I wanted to get this out so fast. I hope you enjoy it!


	8. Entry 8

**A/N:** Yeah...I took a bit of time from this fic so I could do my Christmas story, and then I started working on a new one...BAD ME! Rar! I have to finish this story up and start on the next X-men one I have planned. (Yes, there is another one!) I'm very sorry it took me so long to update. Life keeps getting in the way. I had exams and I've been working on my college crap, so I'm devoting self to studies and meditation. Basically, I'm not doing anything because my brain is barely functioning. Again, I'm sorry for the wait. Here is the next chapter. Enjoy!

(Kitten: Since I haven't seen you in so long, I dedicate this to you. With love! (heart))

**Disclaimer:** I do not own X-Men: Evolution. I own my soul (sort of) and Parker (yay).

* * *

**WARNING:** This chapter is written mostly in _**third**_ person. I know it's a switch up, but in order to get in all the information I want, I needed to switch. Plus, during most of this chapter Parker is unconscious, so she doesn't have much to say! 

Chapter 8

* * *

Dear Kurt,

By the time you read this, I'll be gone...

* * *

It began as every morning did, promptly at 6:25 am. He had shut off his alarm clock and gotten out of bed, same as every morning before school. But this wasn't every morning because as he got out of bed, a notebook fell out with him.

Kurt blinked blurry morning-eyes at the checkered notebook that lay on the carpet beside him. The cover had fallen open. An envelop lay beside it, but his eyes were drawn to the first page. He didn't recognize the handwriting, but he realized it was Parker's from the first statement written on the first clean paper.

My name is Parker.

I am a mutant and I have lived my life to the best of my abilities.

I have no regrets, save one. I didn't kill him when I had the chance...

He had no idea what this meant. Parker hadn't given him anything yesterday, and he always saw her carrying this notebook around with her. Surprised and bewildered, he reached a three-fingered hand out and grasped the notebook. He dragged it on to his lap, curling in for a better look, and flipped through a few pages.

But you wouldn't want me to hurt anyone, would you Mom? No, you'd tell me that hurting people is wrong...

It makes me want things, Mom. It makes me wish for things I can never have, and that makes me miserable when no one is looking.

There are times when I feel totally at ease in his company, and no matter how rare they are, I look forward to them.

I am a plague upon their house, and it will come crashing down if I don't leave...

Page after page, line after line, Kurt stared at the words written in the little notebook. He shouldn't be reading this, not at all. This was personal. These were private letters written by Parker for her mother's eyes alone. It couldn't be right. Maybe she left it here accidentally. Maybe she came in to look for him and forgot it. Maybe...

_Its only right that I leave this journal, something so important to me, to someone that I trust to keep this book just as sacred as I have...Kurt..._

She had given this to him? The further he scanned down the page, the more he became convinced that she was going to leave. He had to stop her. Running wasn't the answer, there was always another way. He knew that. He had to make sure that she knew it too.

Kurt didn't bother with the formal activity of getting to his feet and running down the hall to her room, banging on the door and dramatically demanding she open it. No, he was a mutant, so he just by-passed that entire step of drama and etiquette to teleport into the center of her bedroom.

An empty bedroom that is.

Kurt stared around him in shock. The bed was made crisply. The desk clean. The shelves and closet bare. Nothing remained that showed any sign of a person being there except for a pile of clean, folded clothes that sat on the desk chair. Other than that, any trace of Parker Watson was gone.

Kurt gripped the notebook tightly in his hand and teleported himself into the kitchen. Maybe someone had stopped her, found her before she ran off. There was security systems, cameras, sensors. Someone _had_ to have seen or heard or sensed her leaving!

"Kurt, why aren't you dressed?" Kitty asked, looking up from her breakfast to stare at him with a smile. She and Ororo were the only ones in the kitchen so far.

"Have you seen Parker?" he asked, looking frantically from one to the other.

"No," Ororo said with a frown. "She usually helps with breakfast. I'm surprised she slept in."

"She didn't," Kurt said, slamming the notebook down on the counter. "She's gone."

"Gone!" the two women exclaimed in unison, Kitty jumping to her feet.

"Yeah," someone said from behind. Kurt turned to find Rogue standing a few feet behind him, holding a crinkled piece of paper in a trembling hand. Her eyes were wet, but she didn't cry. She only stared at them. "She's gone, an' she ain't comin' back."

"Where would she go?" Kurt asked, concern written all over his face. "We have to find her!"

"We should talk to the professor," Kitty said with a self-assuring nod. The four quickly walked from the kitchen to the office, barging in without a knockwho thought about manners at a time like this?and all talking at once. He held up a single hand, not saying a word, and they all lapsed into silence automatically. A conditioned reflex.

"Tell me what happened."

"Parker's gone," Kurt stated.

"We gotta go afta her," Rogue agreed.

"Gone where?" Xavier questioned, a question furrowing his brow.

"We dunno," Rogue stated, flashing her letter at him. "Ah woke up with a note on the table tellin' me she had ta get gone, fast. And that she was sorry for what might happen."

"What could happen?" Kitty asked.

"Somethin' bad," Rogue commented.

"This is truly unfortunate," Xavier commented, brow furrowed in thought. "I was hoping she would have remained a few more days. I have finally picked up a warm trail as to the whereabouts of her brother. Logan left last night to see if anything came about."

"You mean...you found him?" Kurt asked, eyes widening.

Xavier nodded. "If he hasn't jumped across the country in twelve hours."

Life really sucked sometimes.

"What about Parker?" Rogue asked, desperation coloring her voice. "We _hafta_ find her! We hafta tell her this."

"I agree," Xavier nodded.

"She couldn't have gotten far," Ororo commented. "She might still be in town. Rogue, why don't you come with me to look for her?"

A curt nod was her response. The two of them left, at a brisk pace.

"I should go tell the others, in case anyone saw her leave," Kitty said, leaving as well.

Kurt watched them, then turned to the professor with a serious expression. For one usually the spirit of joviality, it was rare. "You won't find her sitting around town."

Xavier studied him a moment, then nodded. "You're probably right." He sighed a little, then laced his fingers. "I used Cerebro to find the brother, now it looks like I must find the sister as well."

"But we _will_ find her, won't we?"

"Of course." Kurt let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You should go change," Xavier commented further. "If she's already out of state, we'll have to rely on our other means of transportation to track her down."

Kurt nodded, and left the office. Once outside, he teleported back to his room. Now, he couldn't really say what he was feeling, because there was so much rolling around inside of him. Anger, betrayal, worry, fear. So many things tumbling through that adolescent form. All that it added up to was one ultimate conclusion. He _needed_ Parker to be alright, and he needed her to come home.

As he used numb fingers to paw through clothes and dress, his eyes were drawn back to the floor where the notebook had been dropped. An envelop still laid there.

A clue, perhaps? A little hope sprang to life in him as he grabbed it up and sat down on the bed. Quickly opening it, he pulled out the loose paper and read the letter scrawled to him on it. It was smudged in some places, suggesting water droplets. There were spelling errors crossed out in pencil. The hand writing was sloppy, as if fastly written down for fear of losing nerve. It was so like Parker, it made a little ache in his chest ache even more.

* * *

Dear Kurt,

By the time you read this, I'll be gone...

I am truly sorry for this, for all the trouble I have caused you. I was selfish, to just appear in all of your lives and turn everything upside down. Normally, I don't get mixed up with people. I've always stayed to myself more. Maybe it's because I'm a mutant, or maybe it's just the kind of person I am. I can't say.

This is probably the hardest letter I have ever had to write. Not because of the guilt I feel, and believe me when I say there is a lot. It's because I am going to tell you everything, and I don't really know how to say everything. Know that you, and Rogue, are the soul confidants of this information. Know that the two of you are the only people I have ever trusted enough to share this dark part of myself.

Know that you, all of you, have become my family. Each of you are precious to me now, and it's because of you that I had to leave. Call it martyrdom. Call it selfishness. Call in protection. Whatever you want. I just want you all safe, even if that means I am a horrible person for it.

You see, I really am a horrible person. I'm selfish, and impulsive. I'm overprotective, and aggressive at times. Full of flaws. You could say I'm like everyone else in that way. It's so easy to see the bad in yourself and so hard to find the good. I think the good in me died a long time ago.

I'm being too jumpy, so I'll just get to the point. Bite the bullet. Stop being a fucking coward.

To do that, I have to go back. Back to when my world changed, though at the time, I didn't see it like a big deal. You see, when I was ten years old, I met a man named Andrew DeVero. He was tall and handsome and very kind to me. He wasn't a mutant, but he was, in a way, like your professor Xavier. He gave money to people like my mother, people raising mutants and helping them gain control of their powers.

Mom always mistrusted him. She smiled and took his offerwe were living off of the money she was left by her family, and the checks she'd get for selling the art she did at homebut she never liked him. Especially when he began to take an interest in me.

I liked him, which serves to show how flawed my judge of character is. He was charming and said that I was beautiful, and that my powers made me even more so. I liked the flattery I guess. I was always the strong one in my family, and I was the one showering my brother with praise since he was never as secure in his mutation as I was. I liked that this man paid such attention to me.

After a while of him coming to see us occasionally, he made a proposition to my mother. He wanted to take me with him, to his home, to have me trained properly. For Mom, it was the last straw. She threw him out, told him to never come again, and that she would never give her children to him. Ever.

I was a little hurt, thinking that Mom was denying me a great opportunity to see the world and get a great education, but she stood firm. In the end, I knew I would probably be miserable anyway, being away from my brother and mother for who knew how long. I was always a familial person, they were everything.

But still, over the next year or so, I e-mailed Andrew DeVero, even though my mother told me to break ties with him. I still wanted that flattery, that assurance that I was special and not just different. It was easy for my family to say that, since they were just like me. To have a normal man say that to me...that made it real.

When I was eleven, a man broke into our house and killed my mother. Peter and I had been upstairs, we heard everything, but never saw it. You see, the police called it a burglary, even though the man who killed my mother never stole anything accept her life. He never came upstairs despite our screaming. He never even went past the hallway.

I didn't find out until later that my mother had been murdered because of me. Because DeVero wanted me that badly. He removed the only obstacle in his way, Selene Watson. A day after my mother was killed, Andrew came and took me away with him. That day, in the hospital waiting room, was the last time I ever saw my brother. He wasn't wanted, wasn't good enough, so he was sent somewhere else. I never knew.

All I knew was that any romantic ideas I had about a life with Andrew DeVero were shattered. Oh, he was always a charming man, but he was cruel and angry and vindictive. I begged, begged for weeks that he bring Peter to me. Promised him anything, promised him the world, if I could only get my brother back.

He held me to that. So I trained like a good little girl, for three years. When I was fourteen, he sent me on my first mission. To kill a Senator. If I did that, he promised I would get Peter. So, to my everlasting shame, I did it. I killed a man, when I was fourteen, and I never even knew why I did it.

But it didn't stop there. There were three after that. A Congressman, a business partner who was threatening to go public, and an investor who was trying to back out of a deal. I killed all four of them, easily even. I had been trained to be a killing machine, a good little weapon.

After the fourth one, I realized that no matter how many of these people I killed, he would never give Peter back to me. So I stopped begging, and he stopped promising, and I stopped killing. He told me to do it, so I would go to the house and rouse the people. Many of them didn't believe me when I said Andrew wanted them dead, most of them refused to go into hiding like I asked, but enough of them called the police when I threatened them that Andrew wouldn't send me to do the jobs anymore. If I got caught, it would get back to him behind it.

This was my plan, and he knew it, and he was furious. Let me tell you that I can take beatings. Physical pain isn't something anyone can get used to, but it is something a person can tolerate given enough practice. I got plenty of practice, and then some. It was just another part of my training. Oh, and he trained me good. The best martial artists, the best mutant trainers, the best tutors. I got the best money could buy.

It was just another thing to flatter himself with I think. Fill me with the best and flaunt me, his perfect little weapon. I was never far from his side, wherever he went. I was a kind of bodyguard. And he just wanted to keep an eye on me.

I did a lot of things to anger him when I was fourteen, mostly because I wanted him to get so fed up that he'd let me go. I should have known by then that he would never let me go, just tighten the reigns further. I was his, and I had to know that quite well. He kept a ship in my neck that controlled my powers, so that I could never use them without permission. He kept bars on my window, a camera going in my room at all times, armed guards always outside my locked door.

Still, I didn't want to admit that I was his. I never wanted to, even after the first time he held me down. Even after the first time he raped me. I wouldn't let it back me. Wounds to the body could heal, but I could never find Peter, never get away if I was dead.

So every time after that, that he came to my room at night, I would let my mind drift away until he was done. Then I would plan. Then I would gather my wits, and not let him see me broken.

It took me two years, but I finally found a way to beat him. And I finally got away. During one of my training sessions, I was able to remove the ship in the back of my neck with a knife point. With my powers, it was a simple thing to create an illusion of myself in my room as I picked the locks on my door and escaped past my two then-unconscious guards.

I had the chance to kill him, Andrew himself. We had been alone in the room a few moments before. It would have been so easy to just materialize a knife and plunge it into him. But I was scared, and hurting, and I didn't want to kill anyone else. Ever. Not even him, who so deserved it. And that is something I will regret the rest of my life.

I lived on the run for over a year before I came to the Institute. The life didn't suit me. I'm the kind of girl who likes to put down roots. I almost did that, in a small mutant community where I felt at home for the first time since my mother was killed. But I should have known better than to think that Andrew DeVero would simply let me get away. He sent people into the community, and they killed two people because of me. So I left, and vowed never to stay somewhere long enough to endanger anyone again.

That's why I had to leave you all. You're still training, not warriors yet. DeVero has more men and money at his fingertips than you can imagine. He wouldn't hesitate to kill you all just to get at me. I won't allow it.

So I'm gone.

I didn't tell you this for pity, or compassion, or even for understanding. I did it so you will know that I wanted to stay, but I just can't. No more blood will be on my hands. I am a coward, and I will keep running the rest of my life if I have to.

I'm sorry again, for everything I've done. Just tell everyone that I'll never forget them, and I'll miss them. And I love them.

All of my love, for always,

Parker Watson

* * *

Rogue dressed quickly, throwing on her usual outfit. Her mind was going a million miles a second, and even farther away. This was why Parker had been avoiding her the day before. This was why Parker couldn't look her in the face.

She knew that she would be leaving, and just didn't say anything.

Rogue thought it would hurt more, that the betrayal would consume her, would eat her up inside. It had, until she read the letter. Now it was just a dull ache, far outmatched by the repulsion she held for this Andrew DeVero and the sadness she held for her friend.

Parker wasn't a coward. She just saw things, felt things, that should never have been done to someone as kind as she was. Things had been done to her that should never have been done to any person. Life could be cruel, very, very cruel in fact. But, Parker had never seemed like she let the past rule her. Sure, she was a little frightened around guysRogue had noticed that after observing her for a while. And she did get a look to her eyes sometimes, like when she talked about sex or fighting. Most of the time...no one would ever guess what had happened to her.

Absently, Rogue ran a finger along one of the leaves of the plant Parker had left in her room. It was a pretty thing, have to be moved to the window ledge soon to get the sun. Something Parker had cared for a great deal.

_You've been the best friend I've ever had, Rogue. And though I have no right, I ask you to forgive what I'm doing._

Parker's words. Words from a letter. Writing things down were always easier than saying them face to face. Rogue was an expert at knowing that, being a closet poet and songwriter.

A knock at her door made her snatch her hand back, as if she'd been doing something wrong, and whirl around. "Rogue," Ororo's voice called to her. "Are you ready?"

Rogue sent one last look at the plant on the table, and the wrinkled letter beside it. "Yeah," she called and left.

The two women climbed into one of the mansion's cars, buckled up for safety, and headed toward town. However, they didn't get past the front gate.

Parker's motorcycle blocked the path, still laying on it's side in the dirt, where it had been left when she was abducted.

* * *

The mansion was in an uproar for the rest of the day. Students paced, worried, argued, and were generally upset about the entire situation. Ororo and Mr. McCoy attempted to keep the peace as best they could, but their nerves were just as frazzled as the students. It was unheard of that one of their number to be taken, so close to home, without anyone realizing it. 

Even if she had been planning to leave on her own.

Rogue had no doubt about who had taken Parker. Neither did Kurt.

Everyone waited on Xavier, who had descended into Cerebro hours before in search of Parker's signature. Finally, when he reappeared, everyone fell to the first silence of the day. They moved into the library, the site of most household conversations.

"Did you find her?" Kitty asked.

"No," he said seriously. His expression was troubled. As if he couldn't understand why he couldn't find her. Xavier knew Parker's signature inside and out, after using her as a focus to look for Peter for the last weeks. He would have been able to pick her out easily. But there was no trace. Nothing. She was just...gone.

"It's the inhibitor chip," Rogue said quietly, so that only those nearby her could hear. Then she stood up so that Xavier could see and hear her. "It's her foster father. He uses some kinda chip, to control her powers. He's the one who took her, Ah know it."

"Rogue's right," Kurt agreed. "He's been looking for her, since she ran away."

Xavier's expression darkened, but he kept his opinions to himself. "Very well, we'll start by looking for him. What's his name?"

Rogue and Kurt opened their mouths, but someone beat them to the punch.

"DeVero. Andrew DeVero."

Everyone in the library whirled to the doorway. Logan was leaning against the frame, a helmet in his hands, but his eyes were trained on the person who had come with him. This young man was tall, lean and not very intimidating if you caught a glance of him from the corner of your eye. He was dressed all in black, from his leather jacket to his torn jeans. His hair was dyed brown, but the roots betrayed his natural flaxen coloring. The look in his yellow eyes was cold, and the expression on his face read murder.

Peter Watson had finally been found.

"You're Peter," Kitty exclaimed. "Parker's brother!"

"Where is she?" Peter asked. There was a Midwestern lit in his voice, something that was lacking in Parker from her years of conditioning. Peter's cat-like eyes flew over all the faces in the room, taking them all in. "He took her, didn't he?"

"That's what we suspect," Xavier told him calmly. "But we have no evidence."

"He wouldn't leave any," Peter said icily. His hands fisted and his entire body tensed. "He never does." After a few calming breaths, he looked toward Xavier. "You're Charles Xavier, aren't you?"

"And you're Peter Watson," the professor confirmed. "Your sister has been looking for you, for quite a while."

"I've been looking for her too," Peter said solemnly. "Since that bastard took her from me."

"Do you have any idea where they might have taken her?"

Peter lowered his head, thinking. His eyes closed, but they moved under his lids, as if he were reading something from in his brain. "DeVero owns a lot of property, all over the country. He frequents the estates in the Midwest and near the Rockies, the most. Especially a large chunk of mountain land in Montana. Reclusive, far from anywhere else. Perfect to keep a little girl prisoner from the world." He looked up, eyes unfocused. "That would be our best bet."

"Then we'll start there," Xavier stated.

"I think this is the time for everyone to suit up," Logan commented, standing up and moving into the hallway. "It's a few hours' flight to Montana."

Everyone made a hasty retreat to their rooms to change into their uniforms. This was a mission unlike what they were sued to. This was something that had happened to one of their own, and they would fight to get her back.

Only Rogue lingered in the library, holding back to talk with Peter. He watched her with a kind of quizzical expression that she had seen Parker where a million times. They really were twins. It was written in their faces, and not just the eyes of the hair or the features, it was the same presence they both had. Kind and crazy.

"You must have been her friend," Peter commented with a sad smile.

"What makes ya say that?"

"Her scent is all over you." He leaned a little closer, taking a small whiff from the air, making Rogue retreat a step. She wasn't into being sniffed by a stranger. Peter laughed a little. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Ah'm not keen on bein' inhaled," Rogue commented.

"It's a cat thing," Peter shrugged. "I'm more feral than Parker. She got the mind powers, I got the physical powers."

"Like what?"

Peter ran a hand through his hair. "Stronger, faster, better senses. Stuff like that. I also have a photographic memory, which comes in handy. I read everything I can find on DeVero, to try and find my sister." He looked at her more closely, making her fidget slightly. "I'm sorry," he apologized after seeing her discomfort. "I can just...see her around you."

Rogue furrowed her brow and he shrugged again. "Another of my little tricks. I can see aura left behind from a person, on other people and things. Parker's is on you. It's the closest I've come to her in six years."

Rogue empathized. "We'll find her," she assured him.

He smiled. "I'll be there to see her for myself." Peter arched his back, feeling it crack, then headed out the doorway. "I haven't looked this long to let someone else get the glory of rescuing my little sister."

"She...she wanted me ta tell ya somethin'," Rogue said suddenly, following. "If ya got here afta she was gone. It was in her letter."

"What did she say?" Peter asked, turning his head to meet the green gaze of the young mutant.

"That she loves ya, and that if she don't see ya 'fore the end, that she'll be waitin' with yer Mom."

Peter grinned suddenly, shaking his head. "That's Parker for you," he said, though the pain in his eyes was almost more than Rogue could take. "Always expecting the worst."

* * *

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that I was on my back, on a bed. There was mattress beneath me and a blanket over me. For a few seconds, I let my mind rationalize that DeVero and his chip had been a dream. A nightmare I had while I slept, safely and securely, at the mansion. 

But the smell was different.

That god-awful, familiar scent. Sulfur. Hot springs water from the baths across the house. The smell that clung to everything in the house. I was back in hell. I didn't need to open my eyes to know it. I just felt it in the pain on the back of my neck, in the air, in my soul. Inside I cried a little, feeling myself begin to break.

I opened my eyes and was relieved to find myself alone.

When I sat up, I realized that someone had undressed me, and put me into another set of clothes. Gone was my ultra warm blue sweatshirt that still smelled like Kurt. Gone were my jeans and boots. Gone was the borrowed hair tie I stole from Kitty.

I was wearing a dress now. Black lace over blood red, long and loose and flowing. The dress I wore the night I ran away, when I was being locked in my room after escorting Andrew DeVero to a ball at the Governor's house. The dress he had had specifically tailored for me, because he loved how my hair was brighter against dark, and how my eyes were more gold when I wore red.

My entire body began trembling. And it only worsened when the door opened and the devil walked in.

He was still handsome. Devastatingly so. And he was young, not even forty. He was dressed all in white, making his black hair seem darker, as well as his super dark eyes. There was a smile on his face, of pride and smugness. He had me again, as he always said he would. Now and forever.

"Hello Parker, my sweet," he said in that silky voice.

"Hello Andrew," I breathed, hating myself for the fear in it. Hating him even more for causing it.

"You look beautiful, as you always do." He sat beside me on the bed, running a finger over the lacy satin of my dress.

"I didn't know you made more than one of these," I commented, thinking about something beside the fact that his hand was just a layer of material away from my thigh. "I would have shredded them before I left."

His hand shot out, grabbing my chin and yanking me toward his face. "You got away from me, for a little while, but that's not going to happen again. Not if you want me to leave that silly little school alone."

I resisted the urge to spit in his face, to bite his fingers. "You can't touch Xavier. He's beyond you."

"Nothing is beyond me," he said easily, letting go of my face as he stood again. "And if I can't go after him directly, there are always his little mutants." At my intake of breath, he grinned and looked toward me again. "Let's see, there's a little soccer player. Quite pretty, and a good power. Always liked telekinesis. But then, there's that tasty little morsel who can walk through matter. Could make a good weapon out of her. Or maybe I should go after the German boy who can just appear and disappear from a crime scene."

"You won't touch them!" I screamed, leaping at him, wanting to draw blood. We struggled, me overpowering him for a few seconds, but then the guards rushed in from the sound and hand me back by the arms. "I'll kill you if you touch them, I swear to everything holy. I will kill you!"

Andrew DeVero, whose soul was as black ebony, roared with laughter. "That's my girl," he told me, eye gleaming with triumph and lust. "Just remember. If you disobey me again, they will be the ones who pay."

With that, he left. The guards hit me a few times, until my lip was bloodied and my ribs were bruised, then they too left. Left me alone, in my cell, with nothing but my grief and guilt and pain. It was one of the few times in my life where I wished I could just kill myself and be done with it.

Instead, I sobbed into my pillow.

* * *

**A/N:** Depressing, yes. Excitement mounting, definitely. Only a few more chapters (two I think) and we'll be done. Remember to review, it keeps me humble! 


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